Ostad
by Rhys
Summary: Faramir is on a mission for his King that goes horribly wrong, leading our heroes and heroines, of course into something far darker than the simple discontent they were originally trying to root out…
1. A Good Dunking

**Summary:** Taking place a few years after the events of _Return of the King_, this story primarily features Éowyn, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Faramir, Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen, along with a few more minor characters. Faramir is on a mission for his King that goes horribly wrong, leading our heroes (and heroines, of course!) into something far darker than the simple discontent they were originally trying to root out…

**Disclaimer:** Neither the places nor the people belong to me. Most of them were created by Tolkien, although a few were made up based as much as I could on possibilities within his world, such as the of the Rangers and the guards of the White Swan, aside from Beregond, whom you will remember from the books. If you only saw the movies, you will still be able to enjoy and understand the story; however, there are spoilers in here for the Extended Edition of RoTK, just to warn you. I made up Ostad, along with the characters that exist within it; I'm not selfish, if you like any of it enough or if anything gives you an idea, you're more than welcome to use it. That would make me feel very special! No, seriously, I'm not trying to "lay claim" to anything, I'm just letting you know not to pull out the Appendixes or Map of Middle-earth, because you won't find anything about it; it doesn't exist. Except in this story. So suspend your disbelief, welcome to my imaginary world of post-RoTK, and hopefully, you will enjoy…

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Chapter One

Éowyn stood a long time on the grassy hills of Emyn Arnen, watching even after there was nothing left to see. Although her words to her husband had been ordinary and her tone calm when they bid each other farewell, now that Faramir could no longer see her, her clear eyes were shadowed. She had hidden from him her reaction to his leaving, for she knew that if he thought her troubled he would have been torn between staying by her side and doing as his king bid him. While Faramir was loyal and would give his life for their king, he would have been tormented if he thought he left his wife in anything other than perfect contentment.

And in truth, Éowyn was content, not troubled. Raised a shield-maiden of Rohan, she hardly batted an eye when Aragorn called her husband away. She only wished that the king had not chosen to do so right _now_. She thought that she might soon have had news to give Faramir, welcome news, and only wished that he could have stayed long enough for her to be proved right enough in her guesses that she could tell him. Of course, if Aragorn had any inkling of what Éowyn suspected, it was unlikely he would have allowed anything but the direst of circumstances to part his steward from his wife—but Éowyn was a daughter of Rohan. She understood duty in her heart the way that Gondorian women did in their heads; they knew that the realm's defenders owed their allegiance to more than family, they owed it to their country, and although that was sorrowful it was necessary. Éowyn knew that a man's duty to his liege was above all else, and understood as the fact of life that to serve that lord, you went where and when he said, out of love and honor more than sworn oath. So although it might be months before she saw her husband again, she had not wept as she watched him ride away, and she would never prevail upon Aragorn to spare Faramir his duties so that he could stay with her. Éowyn smiled, her pale face transformed as if a flower had suddenly shaken off its coat of frost.

She turned and walked back inside. At any rate, she was likely to have a wonderful surprise for Faramir when he returned home.

……………

Legolas turned smoothly on the slippery rock and looked back at his companion with a bemused expression.

"I had thought," the willowy Elf said in a voice of wind in trees and starlight on greenery, "that the point of crossing here was to _avoid _getting wet."

His companion was a marked contrast to the tall Elf, as he floundered up from the river and, clutching one of the wet, smooth stones that served as a type of bridge for the sure-of-foot, sent a damp glare at the other. "That was _before _some lame-brained idiot suggested we run across," Gimli, son of Gloin, pointed out accusingly.

Legolas tipped his head to one side, for all the world like a bird pondering a strange creature in front of it as he examined Gimli, then shook his head. "Perhaps your memory is failing, Master Dwarf, for I remember nothing of the sort."

"Then your flighty Elvish ways have finally driven away the few wits you had," retorted Gimli as he struggled to heave himself up onto the rock. "Although," he muttered to himself, knowing the Elf's sharp ears could hear his words, "I can't imagine it took much to do i—" His wet grasp on the rock slipped, and he plunged into the water again. When he surfaced, he looked first at the Elf, but he heard no laughter and Legolas was looking aside into the distance, so Gimli could not see his lips twitching.

"Nay," said the Elf after a moment spent bringing himself back under control. "I fear your dunkings must have caused what remained of your brains to become so water-logged that they cannot function properly, for you recall incorrectly. 'Twas I who suggested the race; the 'lame-brained idiot'" —his bright eyes turned back to fasten on the Dwarf— "was the one who agreed to the challenge."

Gimli tried to roar with rage, but his foot slipped and he inhaled a mouthful of river-water instead. He choked and coughed, trying to rid his lungs of the water without loosing his grip on the rock. Eventually he shook enough water from his ears to become aware of a high, lilting laugh and of hands on his shoulders, half-hauling him to a more secure position on the rock. He blinked water out of his eyes and scowled at the unwanted helper, summoning up his most fiery expression. This only made Legolas laugh harder, which did nothing to appease the Dwarf. His eyes suddenly took on a look of cunning, but before Legolas could brace himself, Gimli had applied the strength of his stout body and sent the Elf flying over his shoulders to join him in the river. With a much happier disposition, Gimli clambered onto the rock, chuckling at the splashes behind him.

……………

Gimli's sour mood, in part from his wet clothes and bedraggled beard, was not helped by his companion. Legolas's thin tunic and leggings were already half-dry, while his own made him feel like he was trapped on the inside of a water-skin. The dunking had not dampened the Elf's spirits, nor done anything to lessen the spring in his step. By contrast, Gimli felt that he had half the river still in his heavy boots as he squelched along ploddingly.

"The challenge was unfair," he said gruffly, continuing their argument.

Legolas, never flagging in his graceful stride, looked over his shoulder at the Dwarf. "I thought," he replied lightly, "that you said 'Elves may be surer of foot on dainty grass, but on good, solid stone, none will surpass a Dwarf.'" His attempt at imitating Gimli's tone was an obvious failure, for a smooth Elven voice could no sooner adopt a Dwarven gravelliness that Legolas could deepen his light tones to the heavy rumble of his shorter friend—but that did not mean that Gimli was unaware of the attempt.

His frown deepened. "Your cursed Elvish-sight told you those stones were slick with river-water before we came nigh," the Dwarf pointed out sulkily.

Legolas, eyes wide in innocence, responded, "the rocks were slick? Are you sure it was not merely Dwarven clumsiness? I noticed no difficulty."

"Then why is it you're drenched?" Gimli snapped quickly. "Couldn't be you fell in the river, could it?"

Instead of snapping off a sharp retort, Legolas laughed happily, an infectious sound—to most. "Drenched? Nay, merely damp enough to cool the warm day," he replied brightly. Gimli was not amused; he glared at the Elf who was a few paces ahead of him—close enough for a good axe swipe, he determined—and thought, _I will never understand these flighty creatures_. Legolas twittered a whistle in response to a small bird, which circled his head twice before flying off, singing its song happily. The Elf laughed at its antics with joy.

_Never,_ Gimli swore to himself, then muttered it aloud for emphasis. "Never, never, never."

Legolas laughed again.

* * *

Dedicated to Laiquendi and Narwen Almiriel, because they came up with the name I eventually decided on for the city: Ostad.


	2. Arrived Too Late

**Thanks for pointing out the issue with this chapter, Arrana. Should be fixed now...and I should so be going to class instead of this, but oh well I'll still make it in time:)**

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_The beginning chapters are a bit on the short side, so I'm trying to get that out as fast as I can; unfortunately, I have the quintessential "bad feeling about this" that it will end up taking a lot of time between updates compared to how speedily I managed to pop them out in_ Exploring Darkness_. My professors have turned a bit psycho/evil, and I just keep ending up with too much homework to get the amount of writing time I was used to. So apologies in advance, and I'll do my best to stay on top of this. And of course, many thanks to everyone who helped me try to come up with a name. Noldo, Avie, Narwen, Laiquendi—hugs to you:)_ _

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_

**Chapter Two**

Éowyn swallowed a smile as she watched the Prince of Mirkwood—_Eryn Lasgalen_, it was now called, she remembered—and the Lord of the Glittering Caves come towards her. She was used by now to the mismatched pair; her amusement stemmed instead from their restrained eagerness. To a normal observer, both Dwarf and Elf seemed to be proceeding calmly, but the Elvish spring in Legolas's step had a pronounced forward motion, and rather than subtly slowing his stride to match Gimli's shorter one as he did unconsciously when they walked together—well, the Dwarf's legs were pumping to keep up with his friend, and neither of them seemed to notice. Further, Éowyn could see that the dreamy, half-absent expression that normally filled Legolas's sharp eyes was replaced by avid anticipation, and Gimli's nigh-perpetual (and affected) scowl had vanished in eyes that shone above a bright grin. Both of them, however, were attempting to disguise their eagerness; that attempted stateliness was what had Éowyn's mouth twitching. Still, she noted, Gimli couldn't help but examine the stonework of the new hall; he nodded in approval at parts, likely picking out the pieces that he and his Dwarven friends had done.

Éowyn hurried forward to meet them (before the Dwarf ran into a pillar), for despite the high and distinguished rankings all three of them held, none of them cared to bother with the time-consuming conventions propriety called for between them. She dismissed the advisors and guards who frequented the hall, wanting privacy with her friends. One of the women indicated her disapproval with a sniff, but they all exited, leaving the three of them alone to talk.

They exchanged enthusiastic greetings. Éowyn gave both of them a kiss on the cheeks, causing Legolas's composed expression to twitch in a smile and Gimli to blush bright red to the roots of his hair and mutter something unintelligible. The other two laughed, and Legolas was treated to a fierce glare—although Éowyn instead received an embarrassed bow.

"Now," said Gimli, quickly changing the subject from Dwarven blushes and Rohirrim kisses before Legolas could say something witty, "where is that husband of yours? Hiding, I suppose, for fear that the Elf here" —Gimli jerked his head to indicate Legolas and snorted derisively— "will find some plants to wax poetic on or drag him off to study a tree?"

"Nay," cut in Legolas, laughing, "he hides for fear that contact with a Dwarf will turn his head from thoughts of noble worth to the sluggish things that fill such small minds as that of my companion." Legolas nimbly skipped away from a kick Gimli aimed at his ankles. "But come," he said, and though there was still laughter on his face and in his voice, his tone was serious, "where is Faramir, for we much desire to speak with him as well?"

"I regret to tell you, he is not here. He left some days ago on a journey for King Aragorn."

"Ai, Gimli," exclaimed Legolas, "we are too late! I did fear we tarried long!"

Gimli looked no less stricken than his friend and their reactions filled Éowyn with worry. "What fools we are, ambling along with no thought to the haste of Men!" The Dwarf beat himself on the brow.

Éowyn, hands clasped so tightly together that they were white, burst in fearfully, "what is it? What danger now plagues him? Hurry—you must tell me the evil!"

Elf and Dwarf stared at her a moment in shock, then Legolas caught her hands, which were wringing themselves painfully. "Nay, lady!" he spoke quickly, his voice soothing, "there is naught to fear. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive Gimli and myself for causing you pain, for such we would never intend to do." His bright eyes were locked on hers with an Elvish intensity, and Éowyn felt the strange rush of emotion subside and she grew quite calm. "We spoke as we did for we had planned to find Faramir here—in truth it was our intention for coming, for we had been thinking on the problems facing Ithilien and wished to share with him some ideas—but I fear that we had no thought for speed, and idled on our journey."

Gimli broke in then, his voice showing his anger with himself for giving the woman distress. "I remember now overhearing Aragorn speak of a task for which he needed Faramir, but we are such fools that we never though to hurry lest we miss him."

Legolas responded almost automatically, his tongue instinctively gibing the Dwarf while his attention remained focused on Éowyn. "You are such a fool, Master Dwarf, but I do not share in the title, for I heard no such thing or I would have hurried our steps—and so you are doubly a fool, for not only did you fail to think to speed us on, you also neglected sharing this knowledge with me. Fear not, though; I forgive you. I am afraid that it is the lot of Dwarves to be doubly fools, as that is the only explanation for them."

"Nay," Gimli snapped back out of reflex for he was also focused on Éowyn, "if I acted the fool, it is only that I have been in your company too long and Elvish folly is so powerful as to rub of on even such intelligent a being as a Dwarf."

Legolas opened his mouth to reply absently, but before he could speak Éowyn started laughing. The automatic banter, following so closely her heart-wrenching fear, was suddenly disproportionately funny, and she could not restrain her mirth. Legolas and Gimli looked at her with such alarm that she laughed even harder at the comical expressions on their faces. The Elf and Dwarf exchanged concerned looks, and somehow decided silently on a course of action. Legolas smoothly slipped a hand under her elbow and turned her around. He led her towards a chair that Gimli was dragging forward.

Éowyn's stomach ached with laughter, and she sat gratefully in the offered chair. The Elf and Dwarf stationed themselves on opposite sides of her, watching anxiously. _They think I'm hysterical_, she thought, bemused. Éowyn chuckled weakly as she brought herself under control. She wiped at her eyes, and smiled gratefully when Gimli offered a handkerchief—she was too out of breath to speak.

She shooed off their concern, assuring them that she had simply had a surfeit of unexpected emotions. When they pressed her, worried, she told them that it had to do with being a human woman, and happened as the moon turned. She was rewarded with some of the most fearful looks she had ever seen cross either's face, and Gimli went bright red again. A faint rose even brushed Legolas's pale cheeks, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing again. It had not been strictly accurate, although it was somewhat close to the truth, but neither of them was in any way eager to inquire closely enough to realize her innocent deception; nor, for that matter, was it likely that either of them understood enough about certain functions of the biology of human women to recognize that she had lied, even if their curiosity had not been so abruptly quenched. It was not that she wanted to deceive them; she simply wanted to inform Faramir before she told anyone else her news.

Suddenly noticing something, Éowyn looked at her friends curiously. "Why are you wet?" she asked, knowing that no rain had fallen this day.

If she had needed anything else to distract them from her emotional state, she had found it. Gimli immediately launched into a grieved tale of the woes he had encountered at the hands of the Elf on their travels, which was much interrupted by Legolas's amendments and additions to the story.

Soon the three of them were gathered around a table of refreshments and laughing like the old friends they were. It was an interesting combination of noise; the low, gravely avalanche-rumble of the Dwarf; the rich, free laughter of the horse-woman; and the soft, song-like chuckles of the Elf. Yet they mingled well, harmonizing joyfully into the sound of friendship.

……………..

Éowyn was up shortly after the sun the next day, despite retiring quite late. She ambled out on to the parapet and watched the sun play on the grass for a few moments until she noticed a tall, slim silhouette framed in the early light. Yawning away the remnants of sleep, she walked over to bid Legolas a good morning.

He turned as she approached, his Elvish senses probably having noticed her before she left the stairs. "Good morn, Lady Éowyn." His soft voice seemed a part of the morning as he bowed slightly.

"And a pleasant one to you, my friend," she replied, smiling. They walked to the wall and enjoyed the yellow sunlight in companionable silence for a few minutes.

"And where is Lord Gimli this morning?" asked Éowyn eventually.

Legolas laughed. "The great Dwarven lord, I am afraid," he explained solemnly, "has not yet graced the morning with his presence. I fear that last night's battle did prove too much for him, and he is even now regretting the conflict with the wineskins." Legolas sighed and shook his head, face sad. "He will no doubt tell you, when he finally wakes, that he received a most grievous wound—as he informed me late last night when I mentioned the severity of his snores; or, as he called them, the complaints of his injuries."

Éowyn laughed, and grinned at her friend. "Would you wish to accept, then, my offer of separate rooms this evening?" the gracious hostess asked politely.

Legolas looked at Éowyn as if she had taken leave of her wits. "Leave a Dwarf with no one to watch him? And in stone buildings, no less? I fear that without sharp eyes on his every movement, your citadel would not long remain standing."

Éowyn laughed again, and they stood watching the morning.

"Tell me, my lady," Legolas asked after a pause, "when did Faramir depart?"

"He left but three days under a week ago—two now, I suppose," she replied. "Wish you to go after him? I know their path, and can have fast horses soon prepared. I do not believe that the errand was serious, nor urgent enough to warrant hard riding. They may not yet have arrived at their destination, and at any event you are distinct enough a personage that my lord would know 'ere you entered the city to meet…"

"Nay," Legolas smiled at her, "we had no urgent errand in coming; I wished merely to confer with him regarding the reclaiming of the lands, and that can wait for his return. And then, the haste with which we would need to ride to overtake him" —his smile turned mischievous, and he raised his voice slightly— "well, you have seen yourself how taxed even our gentle journey here left my companion. I fear that the Lord Gimli could never sustain the necessary pace. It is a failing of all Dwarves, I think, but Gimli especially so—"

Legolas was interrupted by a ferocious sputtering behind them. "A failing of the Dwarves?" Gimli demanded incredulously. "Say rather it is a failing of the Elves to be hopelessly lazy. This great prince here" —he indicated Legolas with a snort— "cannot so bestir himself for the chase, and so attempts to find excuse, weak though it may be. No sensible being would ever question the strength of the Dwarves—'though whether Elves be sensible creatures is debatable."

"Dwarven strengths may well be impressive in some circles," Legolas responded in a tone that said he much doubted it, "but it deteriorates when not kept stoked with copious amounts of food, and since you did rise so late this morning, I fear that your missed breakfast will make you much lag behind."

Gimli started to reply, then stopped. "Missed breakfast?" he asked in horror, gaping at them.

Legolas looked at him pityingly. "It is already such a late hour of the morning, Master Dwarf," he said sternly, "that I suggest you conserve your energies until luncheon, which is not altogether far off." The Elf nodded to both of them to excuse himself and disappeared down the stairs.

Gimli stared after him in shock, then looked at Éowyn. His eyes narrowed when he saw the sun's position. "Why, it is not yet past eight!" he exclaimed in outrage.

Éowyn laughed. "No," she reassured the Dwarf, "nor have you missed your morning repast. Come, let us go down together. We shall, I am sure, meet Lord Legolas in the dinning hall."

Gimli grumbled something uncomplimentary about certain Elvish princes, and followed Éowyn from the parapet. Light Elven laughter echoed down the stairs in front of them as Gimli followed the Lady of Ithilien and plotted his revenge with every step.

……………..

Faramir reined in his horse and held up a fist to signal his small escort to stop. He looked at them over his shoulder; Beregond met his eyes and quirked the corner of his mouth in a wry grin. Faramir's grey eyes twinkled in humor that did not move his lips.

"You all know why King Elessar sent us, men," said Faramir, his voice low so that it would not carry in the twilight. "So I need not remind you to be on your best behavior." The Gondorians nodded, their faces solemn—but that was the common expression in Gondor, even with Aragorn on the throne and Mordor vanquished. "All right," he said more quietly. "Now, double check that you wear nothing that will mark us as Gondor."

"I fear that is a lost cause, my lord," Egalmoth said dourly. "We shall be hopelessly marked as men of Gondor whatsoever clothes we wear and sigils we hide." He waved a hand to indicate their plain garb, bereft of white trees or stars.

Faramir smiled grimly at his men. "And can not Gondor's merchants trade without the official interest of their king, providing they are willing to scout their potential partners themselves?"

The Gondorians chuckled, remembering the trouble that had been gone to in order to begin that rumor. Faramir glanced at Beregond, who grinned back at his lord. With a nod, Faramir signaled his men to ride forward, down to the city…

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Will not put off homework for fanfiction, will not…okay, fine, I will. Gee, I held out against temptation really well there, don't you think? Heh. More fun than typing up psych papers or cutting out little colored squares… Anyway, I want to thank everybody who reviewed! Made me very happy! Welcome to the story:)

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Deana –** beautiful dance, really. Here, let me help you up off that floor before you roll into something painful…

**Laiquendi –** Yup, many thanks to you! And I'm really glad you liked the beginning. And welcome again to the craziness of the lotr forums… Have a raincoat. If we're still food-fighting, you'll need it…especially if Git keeps throwing vegemite! I'd suggest not hiding behind me (a.k.a. Tathrin) as I seem to have become a target…

**Avalon –** _Ostad_ literally means "two city" just like your _tadcaras_, I just liked _ost_ (walled-city) because that was shorter so it seemed more like a nickname. And yep, you pegged our lovely white lady's "secret" easily. Thanks again for your help!

**Lil Pippin –** glad I could please you! Hope you like the way it evolves. Keep me posted!

**flowerbee1 –** welcome! Hope you like. Hot chocolate while you make yourself comfortable? _holds out a mug._

**ForeverFaramir –** thank you very much, I'm glad to hear you liked the intro. Keep reading, we get exciting soon! 

**Jebb –** Er…um, glad I could help with that mental-imaging…um…note to self: never dump Legolas in a river again, and beat Gimli over his helmeted head for doing so… Hee, no, really, I'm glad I could refresh your mental energies. But, they're the "synamic" duo now, huh? lol Gotta love fun typos… ;P

_If I get the chance, I'll put up a new chapter sometime this week. Otherwise, Thursday night is the start of my week-end, so I'll definately procrastinate from homework long enough to do this first! Cheers, all!_


	3. The Foolishness of Elves and Men

Sorry about the wait…Thursday night as promised, at least! I'm afraid this story will likely end up following a weekly schedule rather than an every-couple-days type of thing. Maybe twice a week/week-end sometimes, but on the whole, look for a new bit each week…hopefully! And any political/naming/language/geography errors, please feel more than welcome in pointing out! I would greatly appreciate such assistance. Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter Three

Gimli, arms crossed tightly, watched what he deemed the foolishness of Elves and Men with ill-disguised disgust. Those two seemed to be enjoying themselves, though. Why they felt the need to move about on anything other than their own two legs, the Dwarf would never understand—especially when those other things had minds of their own. While he would never admit it—especially to the Elf—Gimli had been secretly relieved when Legolas had announced that he would leave Arod to the care of Gondor's stables and proceed to Emyn Arnen on foot. Gimli had suitably expressed his sentiments about the journey until Legolas had offered (threatened, more like) to retrieve the horse to speed their travels and so shorten the time that he would have to spend listening to the complaints. Gimli had promptly turned to other targets for his tongue—chief of them the Elf himself, of course.

The Dwarf was distracted from his musings when he saw something moving on the plains. Squinting, he could see a horse and rider making for the gate. Turning, Gimli was about to point this out to the crazy figures on horseback below, but he saw that they were already returning. He realized with a grumble that Legolas had likely sighted the rider an hour ago and had timed things so that he and Éowyn would return well in advance of the visitor.

Gimli sighed and started down from the walls. He might as well join them and see who had come hither.

…………….

"Be you sure you need not go lie down for a rest after all that exertion?" Gimli muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Legolas spared a glance at his short friend, but Gimli felt that he had finally gotten a taunt in home free. The Elvish prince was too well-trained from his father's (eternally cursed, of course) court to hold a side conversation while the lord (or in this case, the lady) of the hall was having words with someone else.

"Had you too much sun today on that high wall, that you feel faint?" Gimli almost doubted he had heard the words, so quietly had they been pitched. He looked up at the taller Elf, and could only see the faintest motion of his lips by examining closely the face he was so familiar with. "For I know that Dwarven solicitousness comes only from their efforts to conceal their own weaknesses," Legolas murmured softly.

Gimli glared, recognizing the neat trap. He could not protest the insult to Dwarven manners without saying they were weak, but no more could he protest the insult to their strength without belittling Dwarven hospitality and politeness. He scowled, and saw the edge of Legolas's mouth twitch in amusement. "Better than the Elves," he began, but stopped at an unspoken signal, although he was careful to file the rest of his words away for future use.

A slight tilt of the Elf's head and a minute eyebrow twitch told Gimli that the interview between Éowyn and the messenger had ended. He quirked an eyebrow of his own in question, but Legolas gave a tiny shake of his head. While too well-mannered to deliberately eavesdrop, Elven senses were acute and Gimli knew his friend had heard every quiet word spoken. However, he was not about to disclose them. Even if it had been nothing more than the weather—or something as dire as an approaching army—he would let Éowyn tell them or not as she saw fit. _A plague on the stiff necks of the Elves_, Gimli thought with a wry grin.

Éowyn re-rolled the scroll she had been handed as she walked towards her friends while the messenger was led away for food and rest. Legolas carefully assumed a look of curious interest, pretending that he knew no more of what had been said than Gimli did.

Éowyn's expression was composed as well, although her eyes shone. "My Lord Faramir has sent word that he will be spending far more time in Ostad than he and King Aragorn thought, and he wishes for me to join him there at once. I would—"

Before she could continue, Gimli interrupted with a grin. "Say the word, then, my lady; when do we leave? I—"

Legolas cut off his friend by surreptitiously stomping on his foot. Through the Dwarf's thick boots, it was unlikely that Gimli had felt more than the faintest touch, but it drew his attention enough that Legolas could give him a glare that said, _we were not invited_, and bide him to hold his tongue. The Elf turned to Éowyn and began smoothly, "what Gimli says in his own crude manner is, we hope that you will allow us to escort you to Ostad, so that your passage may be unhindered and perhaps lightened by our company." The gentle stress he put on the word _our _showed his disbelief that the company of a Dwarf could lighten anything, but hopefully that of an Elf would make up for it. Gimli saw the implication as easily as Éowyn did and opened his mouth with a retort.

Éowyn spoke before he could, hiding her grin. "I would greatly appreciate it, and would prevail upon you to accompany me further, into the city itself, for I would not see you make the effort of the journey only to part company from you at the gates."

Legolas shook his head. "Lady, we would never intrude thus," he began, leaving the woman to wonder just how acute Elvish senses really were, and what he might have noticed about her.

She stopped him, shaking her head. "It would be no intrusion," she assured them. "To be honest, my friends, Faramir will be oft busy with his duties, and I fear I shall have little company there."

Legolas and Gimli exchanged a glance, checking that they were in agreement. "We would be honored, my lady," the Elf said for both of them with a slight bow.

Éowyn was about to thank them when Gimli's face suddenly fell. He groaned, and they looked at him askance. "This means horses, does it not?" he asked unhappily.

Éowyn and Legolas exchanged a look, lips twitching as they tried not to laugh. "If you fear you are not up to it," Legolas began solicitously, but Gimli cut him off.

"Let's turn the beasts out, then," he growled with a sigh and stomped out of the hall.

…………….

A little over a week ago, Faramir had been in Minas Tirith, receiving secret orders from his king. To all appearances, Aragorn was sending Faramir on a simple mission, more to give the two men time apart after a bitter argument than to accomplish anything of true necessity. Aragorn had insisted that Gondor's merchants should trade only where Gondor had official relations, and Faramir had said the traders should be free to barter where they wished, so long as they did not rely on Gondor's protection once they had left its reach and borders behind. Tempers had flared over the simple disagreement, and in anger Aragorn had ordered his Steward to take a few men and inspect the beacon fires in the surrounding area.

When Aragorn walked through the door into the small map-room, the wrath that had frightened the watching citizens was replaced by mirth. Faramir rose and bowed to his king with a smile, and the two men had exchanged very pleased grins.

"Remind me, lord," Faramir spoke wryly, "to never make you angry. Even pretended rage had me near retreating in terror."

Aragorn smiled wolfishly and responded, "your own wrath was fearsome to behold, Faramir. When you went for your sword-hilt I very nearly feared you had forgotten the ruse and were going to run me through."

Faramir laughed. "And have her majesty's vengeance? No thank thee, highness; you forget, I have seen the speed of the Elves, and have no desire to taste their steel."

The two men laughed, and Aragorn indicated that Faramir could sit. He poured wine for them both, then joined his Steward at the age-darkened table. "Now," he said, spreading out a large scroll on which Anórien was drawn in detail, "here is the path that I suggest. You can follow the Great West Road to here; it will look to all appearances as if you are on your way to the first beacon."

Faramir leaned forward. "We'll make camp and pretend to retire," he suggested, "then ride out under the cover of darkness. Anyone trailing us ought to lose us in the night, and if we duck into the forest it could take them days to pick up our trail."

Aragorn nodded; both of them were accustomed to the wilds, and to both tracking and being tracked. They respected each other's skill enough to exchange their thoughts on the journey with no regard to rank or orders—at the moment, they were both Rangers, picking a way through the wilderness.

"From there, you ought to be able to proceed relatively straight to Ostad. Have your men keep alert, and try to avoid contact with anyone—but not too hard. You're wary merchants, not trained Rangers." Faramir nodded agreement. "Be sure to hide your Gondorian insignia in the forest; burn what you can, bury what you can't."

"It won't be found," Faramir assured him. "We'll become traders overnight, I promise you."

Aragorn grinned. "A Steward of Gondor, travelling as a lowly merchant man. What your father would say…"

Faramir smiled wryly. "I doubt it would be complimentary, my liege. Especially were he to learn that it was your plan I divest myself of my rank."

Aragorn laughed, and after a moment Faramir joined in, their "argument" vanished into memory—and the gossip of the city, which was right where they wanted it…

…………….

Legolas found Gimli outside the stables, balefully locking eyes with the gelding the stablehands had led out for the two of them to ride. Remembering Arod—and the trouble he had caused for the Gondorian stables—they had chosen another spirited creature for the Elf. It was now snorting at Gimli and pawing the ground. While Arod and the Dwarf had learned to tolerate each other (thanks to careful nudging from the Elf), Gimli would never like horses, and Legolas could see that enmity had already been established between these two.

He grinned and quickly hid it. Putting down his and Gimli's things by the side of the stables, he greeted the horse softly and laid a hand on its nose. The horse wore only a plain rope halter to keep it tied to the fence, for Legolas rode in the manner of his people—with neither bridle nor saddle. Despite having been unlucky enough to have experienced the riding of both Elves and men, the Dwarf had no preference. There was nothing that could make bouncing on the back of a horse better. Gimli transferred his glare to the Elf.

"They say its name," he related with displeasure, "is Holdwyn."

"_Mae govannen_, Holdwyn," Legolas greeted him again. He spoke something in Sindarin too quietly for Gimli to hear, and the horse quieted.

Gimli scowled. "I assume you have my things safely stowed in there, then?" He crossed his arms and nodded at the light packs.

"And your axes are all there as well," Legolas assured him. He glanced around. "Perhaps you ought to put them on," he suggested lightly. "For ease of carrying."

Gimli looked at his friend sharply and saw that the strange note to the Elf's voice had not been his imagination. He raised his eyebrows, asking, you expect trouble?

Legolas twitched a shoulder in reply and fastened his ageless gaze on his friend; he felt no darkness, had no foreboding—but it was wise to be cautious.

Gimli snorted, feeling they had nothing to fear. Legolas indicated the stableyard with a glance and a jerk of his eyebrows. Gimli looked around, and realized for the first time that Éowyn's horse, Windfolla, was the only other one prepared, and no one seemed inclined to ready any others. He turned back to the Elf, questioning.

Legolas's lips thinned and he gave his head a tiny shake. He had suggested travelling with a small guard, but Éowyn had felt that the three of them were sufficient for the journey. The Elf grimaced slightly. He had pushed as hard as he dared, but he had had to back down for fear that Éowyn would refuse to allow even the two of them to accompany her. Gimli shrugged; he doubted more would be needed…but he secured his axes nonetheless. Only to keep the Elf from being twitchy, of course.

Éowyn came out then, giving a few last instructions to the man she was leaving in charge of Ithilien. The Dwarf could see that the men were as displeased at the size of their lady's escort as the Elf was. Gimli frowned. Were not he and Legolas each the equal of at least ten men? Besides, the Lady Éowyn was hardly lacking in skill or valor, for all that she had changed her focus from cultivating her swordsman—in this case, woman—ship, to cultivating plants. They had no cause to fear.

Legolas, having finished settling the horse, turned to Gimli. With ill-disguised dislike, the Dwarf clambered onto the horse's back, far less gracefully than the Elf's smooth vault, but more skillfully that his kinsmen could have managed.

While Éowyn was occupied in settling herself and her mount, Legolas turned his head to speak quietly to Gimli. His voice was so low that the Dwarf had to strain to hear it, and he made a mental note to remind his friend later that not everyone had the ears of an Elf—but he didn't want to kick him now and risk being tossed off the creature he was gingerly straddling.

"Lady Éowyn, I feel," whispered Legolas, "wishes an adventure. She is not unhappy, but she has been confined here while others travel by their duties or their whims. She knows this is like to be naught but a simple ride, yet wishes not to constrain herself with a large group of protectors, wanting to enjoy the travel freely while she yet may. And I believe that her emotions are now in flux—"

Gimli waited a moment, certain that Legolas meant to say more, but the Elf turned forward and waited in silence for Éowyn. Puzzled, Gimli tried to figure out why the Elf should so suddenly fall silent, as if he had said more than he should. Granted, his insights or inklings or whatever they were about the lady's desires were not precisely complimentary, but they were hardly things that should not be said, under the circumstances. _Elves_, he thought disparagingly, and rolled his eyes.

A moment later he was clinging desperately to Legolas's thin waist as the horse shot forward, and all ponderings save the wonder of when he had lost his sanity were swept from Gimli's head.

…………….

As the sun sank from the sky, the two horses slowed, their riders searching for a good campsite. The one riding double pointed, and they turned the two steeds from the road. The two fairer and taller companions swung from their horses with ease; the shorter one seemed more to tumble from his mount.

That shorter one was Gimli the Dwarf, and after nearly a full day of clinging to the back of a horse while an Elf and a woman of Rohan raced happily across the road and fields, his mood was far from benevolent, particularly towards horses and the riders thereof.

Those riders were Legolas, Prince of Eryn Lasgallen, and Éowyn, Lady of Ithilien. Éowyn hobbled her horse, Windfolla, but Legolas merely spoke to the mount he and Gimli had shared, and Holdwyn whickered as if he understood before joining the other animal in browsing among the grasses off the Great West Road.

Gimli scowled at the horses and gave them a wide berth as he collected dry brush and wood from the outskirts of Druadan Forest. Éowyn took Legolas aside for a quiet word.

"Be not upset with me, my friend," she spoke urgently, "for I would not have a shadow on our journey, which should be rather full of joy."

"Nay, lady," said Legolas, "I am angered not. It is your decision what sort of guard to bring; assuredly, you know these lands better than I. Still, I would yet caution you, not all the foes of the White City, or of the Horse Lords, have been driven from the lands, and as we ride further from Minas Tirith the protection of the citadel will wane. It is possible that orcs scurry still about the lands, avoiding detection, and we are but a day's ride from Emyn Arnen. Should you wish to bring a safer number, I will gladly take word while you sleep, and have them here by the morn's first light…" He stopped, seeing her face close at his words and, with a silent sigh, gave up on the safety numbers would bring to the woman's journey. He bowed to her slightly, acknowledging his defeat. "And yet as it is your choice, I will say no more about it, my lady. Come, let us aid Gimli in preparing the night's camp, 'ere we find it burnt to ash around us."

Gimli was striking the fire as they approached. His low grumbling served as a counterpoint to the high, winding tune Legolas began to sing in his native tongue. Neither of his companions could understand the words he sang, but even the Dwarf felt the cares of the day ease with the gentle music, although he would never have admitted to it.

The three travelers shared a brief dinner around the fire, and afterwards Éowyn sang a short chant of the Rohirrim. Gimli's musical contribution to that night were his snores, for he wrapped himself in his gray cloak with an oath against horses after Windfolla and Holdwyn joined the song. Legolas took the first watch, which they set more from habit than necessity. Shrouded in his pale cloak of Lórien as twilight turned to night, the Elf might have disappeared into the dimness were it not for the gentle hum of his voice in the shadows proving he was still there.

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Laiquendi –** Oh yeah, that's me, awesome-willpower person. Yup. Oh, I'm going to have quite a bit of fun with those two. Must remember not to dissolve into banter all the time, though…difficult, difficult… And yes, rancid food definitely helps when one is engaged in a food fight of the magnitude of that of the forums. Sugar-highs are good, too, though; nutella? ;)

**Deana –** Another dance! Hee hee, I'm going to have to start throwing roses or something! And thanks for telling me to read those, they were great!

**Templa Otmena –** Aw, I'm sorry, you're already behind! lol Isn't that just too amusing? ;) I'm sorry to hear about RL, it does that sometimes…doesn't it know we have more important things to deal with? Cliff-hangers? _Me? gasp! _But my dear, you must know, when rubbing your hands together with glee you have to cackle. Practice it with me: Nya-ha-ha… (patented Wicked Witch of the West style cackling!) Glad you're enjoying!

**Aranna –** Happy birthday again! I hope somebody bought you an Elf! ;P The banter…heh…well, um, I happen to be a, er, sarcastic, bantering individual and…well…it just sort of comes…heh heh? Yep, you guessed it! Not much of a "secret," is it? The fun part is seeing how long the men will remain oblivious! ;) Definitely convenient, o-yah. _bobs head affirmatively_. Ostad means literally "twocity"—creative, no? Heh. And thanks for pointing that out! _Rhys blows a kiss._

**ForeverFaramir –** Yay, intriguing! And yep again, pregnant she is! Tell away, just don't let the boys know—that would spoil the game, now wouldn't it? ;) About Faramir—he'll be coming back for a bit soon, don't worry! Er…actually, maybe you _should _worry…after all, if he's not in the story I can't do anything to him…um, not that I would…I mean, he's in no danger or…I think I'll shut up now…

**Avalon –** Heh heh, yep, lots of guessing and all of it right! As for Faramir…well, see above… ;) Oh, and I'm glad you like that story! Hey, there's an idea—everyone, go read "Beyond This World" by Thunder Tiger, it's literally tear-inducing and the most wonderful story in the world! Go now, shoo! 

**East Coastie –** Hee hee, the Elf and the Dwarf are _so _much fun, aren't they? Oh, so, er, Faramir's your favorite then, huh? Um…how about if you don't look at the above two responses, yeah? Thanks…

**flowerbee1 –** Quite welcome. Nutella to wash it down? OOPS! Thanks for that one…um, don't really know where I got that from…er…yeah, I'll just sort of blush deeply and offer deep and embarrassed apologies and thanks, how's that? Hannon le! _blushes!_

**Jebb –** Deliberate, huh? Well, if you say so… Enjoy the synamic duo! ;P

**Lil Pippin –** Ah, a talented multi-tasker! Well done! And wow, thanks; I'm really thrilled that this is good enough to hold your attention. How about if I promise to insert enough humor with the interactions of the synamic duo (and everyone else, of course!) to keep you interested? ;) And good luck with that CD thing…let me know how it worked out for you…although I suppose if anyone's going to manage it, it will be someone with Hobbit feet…

_Wow, thank you all so much! Great response, I really really appreciate it! Hugs, nutella, and hot chocolate for you all! …what, bribery you say? Nonsense! I would never bribe my reviewers! Torture them with cliffies, maybe, but never bribe them… ;) Namarië!_

**P.S. is anyone else having trouble with little "**9;**" showing up in front of every paragraph when they update...or am I just lucky?**


	4. Ooh, Foreboding!

Oh, just a quick note: in case anyone starts wondering about time and distance, the jumps between character-groups do not always go to direct "meanwhiles," sometimes they'll head to different times. I just realized that I wasn't very clear about that, and I don't want anyone confused about how character X got from point A to point C while character Y is still going from point B to A or whatever…yeah, now that that's hopefully clear enough that no one can possibly be confused, enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Four

Gimli awoke, suddenly, wondering where he was and why. Then his sore joints reminded him: he had spent the day perched precariously behind the Elf on the back of a four-legged demon. He groaned, and immediately regretted the noise. He heard the Elf's soft song pause, and while he couldn't hear the light footfalls on the grass, he knew Legolas was walking over to stand above him. Stubbornly, Gimli squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be asleep.

"Good morning, Master Gimli." The Dwarf ignored the bright voice. "Come, dawn is growing and the road is waiting." Gimli snuggled himself deeper into his bedroll. If he ignored it, maybe he could get lucky—for the first time since he had met the dratted prince—and the Elf would go away. He was just beginning to think it might work when a light, swift foot darted in to nudge him (a little too sharply, Gimli thought) in the side.

It succeeded in jolting the Dwarf's eyes open. He sat up sputtering in anger, but the Elf—laughing gaily—had already danced out of reach. Gimli sighed, but now that he was obviously awake, he had no choice but to get up. Grumbling, he started packing up his bedroll. He saw that Éowyn was almost done assembling a trail breakfast for them, and Legolas had everything save the cooking utensils and Gimli's bedding already secured to the waiting horses.

"I still don't see why we couldn't have stopped in Minas Tirith," the Dwarf grumbled unhappily. "We were within minutes of the city. And the princess will probably have doubled in size so that we will not even recognize the child on our return."

Éowyn smiled over at him. "We already discussed that, my Lord Gimli, and decided neither to take up the King's time nor our own just then. We shall visit with them rather upon our return, when we can tarry with no pricks of conscious for keeping Faramir waiting."

Gimli scowled. "You mean you and the Elf discussed it," he pointed out grumpily. "I was too occupied in avoiding getting thrown from that _creature's_ backside to discuss much of anything."

Éowyn hid a smile and returned to breakfast. If the Dwarf was complaining about journeying on horseback, all was right with the world.

…………….

After a brief breakfast that Gimli took as long on as he feasibly could without garnering barbs from the Elf, they were off again. Gimli was far from looking forward to the next few days. The only good thing he could see was that both his companions were skilled enough at the unholy art of horse-riding that they could proceed at a fast pace. This was a mixed blessing in Gimli's eyes, for while the less time he spent on horseback the better, he much preferred that unenviable position when the horse was going slow to when it was going fast. Fast was, Gimli thought, when on the back of a horse, a very, very bad thing.

…………….

Faramir couldn't shake a strange feeling of foreboding as he rode through the scattered tents and ramshackle buildings of the Outer City. He supposed it was probably just the reaction of a Gondorian used to the trim, carefully fashioned stone cities of his country, when encountering the rough disarray around him. Even in the wilderness, his Ranger camps had always been orderly and particularly maintained. The casual chaos of this thrown-together jumble of shabbily erected shelters was alien to the Prince of Ithilien.

He looked around at the men riding with him and saw that the members of the White Company were as uncomfortable in their strange surroundings as he was. He opened his mouth to reassure them, but had no time to speak—suddenly, they were under attack!

The men reacted, for all their merchant garb, as trained soldiers of Gondor. Swords flashed in the sunlight and horses wheeled, throwing off their ambushers. Egalmoth drew first blood, stabbing one of the attackers in the shoulder, but the narrow streets and greater numbers favored those who fought on foot as they swarmed around Faramir and his men. Herion was dragged from his horse, which reared in panic. Turgon beheaded the foe that was about to run the de-horsed man through, but then another attacker slashed his sword arm.

Faramir wheeled his mount to go to the man's aid, but before he could reach him he felt a sudden burst of pain from his side. One of the ambushers had swung himself up behind the Steward, and sunk a dagger into his side. The man was scrabbling for Faramir's throat when the Gondorian suddenly felt him go stiff. He toppled from the horse, Beregond's blade in his back. Faramir nodded to his guards' captain and turned back to the fray. It was obvious in a glance that it would not end well, but no son of Gondor was going to surrender. Swords and daggers flashed and blood mixed with yells from both sides.

One of those yells caught Faramir's attention over the clash of battle: "Don't kill the Prince! We need him alive to get—" The man's cry ended in a gurgle as Egalmoth slit his throat. The cold feeling in Faramir's gut solidified into ice.

"To Gondor!" he yelled. "Break for Gondor, any who can! Ride out! The King must be warned! To Gondor!" The attackers were swarming them all, but were concentrated around the Steward. He saw that Beregond and Turgon were on the edge of the fighting, turning to battle their way back to the prince's side. "To Gondor!" he ordered, ignoring the disbelieving look that flashed over their faces at being ordered to abandon the man whom they were sworn to protect. "That's an order! Warn the King! Go—go now! Ride to—" a blow caught the side of Faramir's head, and the world went dark.

…………….

Aragorn stroked the dark, silken hair of the tiny child, smiling gently. The cares and troubles that lined his strong face smoothed, and years of mortal life seemed to fall away from him—for a moment. With a sigh, the Gondorian king turned away from the sleeping babe. He was waiting when the runner peeked around the door discretely. Aragorn nodded for the man to rise and enter, but motioned for him to be quiet.

His voice pitched low, the man related the news he brought. "Sire, the Lady Éowyn has departed Emyn Arnen. With her went the Lords Legolas and Gimli." Aragorn waited, assuming that there was something more to tell; there was little surprise that the three of them should ride out somewhere, although he wondered that they had not stopped in Minas Tirith for a farewell. Perhaps they were only going on a brief trip to enjoy the road. But that did not explain the man's anxiety, or hesitation. He took a breath before continuing: "Their destination, my lord, is Ostad."

Aragorn's eyebrows lifted. "Are you certain of this?"

The man nodded. "It seems the Lady Éowyn received a missive from Prince Faramir bidding her to join him." He eyed his king in confusion, wondering why Faramir—allegedly seeing to the beacons of Gondor—should be in Ostad, let alone be sending for his wife to join him.

Aragorn frowned. There was no reason for Faramir to bring Éowyn to Ostad—not with the mission he was there to do. The blonde lady of Rohan would stand out there, especially as the wife of a "Gondorian merchant" scouting the city for trading opportunities…to say nothing of the attention a Dwarf and an Elf would garner! No, Aragorn decided quickly, Faramir would never have sent for Éowyn, least of all without first contacting Aragorn and explaining why he wished for her aid. There had to be another explanation for their journey; perhaps someone bent on causing trouble for him, or trying to draw his attention away from another occurrence? But were they truly heading to Ostad, or was someone only trying to distract him by leading him to believe that they were? He needed to get better information before he took action. But he did know one thing.

_Something is very wrong here_, he decided. "Send a rider to Emyn Arnen and make certain of this. Bring me the letter if it can be found." The man bowed and exited.

Now all Aragorn had to do was figure out exactly_ what _was wrong—and what to do about it…

…………….

Gimli was half-dozing behind the Elf now that the horses had found a smooth pace on the Great West Road. Éowyn was in the lead, having recently ended a brief gallop of exhilaration. Legolas's sharp Elf eyes had been able to see her and their surroundings clearly as she rode ahead, so there had been no reason to disturb the Dwarf with an overly fast pace—not so long as he kept her within bow's-reach, just to be safe. He had urged Holdwyn to gradually catch up after Windfola slowed.

The Elf shifted his mount back to a walk and turned around abruptly. Shading his bright eyes from the afternoon sun with a slim hand, he looked back to Minas Tirith. His Elven-sight let him pick out the city even at the distance of nearly two days' steady riding. He searched the small speck that was the White City, but saw nothing to explain his strange foreboding. He stared a moment more, then shrugged and turned away. It was only the vaguest sense of unease, and while Legolas trusted his insights and feelings he did not possess the power of foresight gifted to the greatest of his people. And so, feeling no dire tug towards Gondor, and trusting that there was little Aragorn could not handle, and what he could not he would send for aid for, he turned away and sped Holdwyn to catch up with Windfola and continue their travels.

…………….

Arwen's footfalls were as silent as any Elf's. Only the faint rustle of Gondorian silk betrayed her presence to Aragorn. He smiled but did not turn from the balcony. Her voice, when she spoke, was the soft sound of twilight, low, soothing. "What troubles you, my love?"

Aragorn was silent, not wishing to burden her with it. She laid a hand on his arm, and he was reminded that for all her delicate beauty and grace, she was of the Eldar, the first people, and had all the strength and wisdom such years bring. She could likely face more strife or troubles than could he without bowing. She would neither allow him to, nor forgive him for, trying to spare her.

He sighed again, then spoke quietly. "I fear there is some problem in Ostad. Faramir was to send secret word back to me when he was safely secured within, but I have heard nothing. In truth, I should not expect word so early, but I learn that Éowyn rode out this morning, with Legolas and Gimli, for Ostad—apparently at Faramir's bidding."

"Faramir would not send to her," Arwen shook her head.

"I know."

Arwen spoke with the calmness of her people, although her own foresight said nothing. "They ride to danger."

"I _know,_" said Aragorn in frustration. "I am sure of it, although I cannot say how or why." He scowled at the dark hills in the distance. "If Ostad is indeed their destination, it is unlikely they will ever reach it. I know the 'traders' have spies and guards surrounding the wretched place," he explained to Arwen's silent question. "Yet even if they do come safely to the city, they will never be permitted to enter."

"Cannot Éowyn be overtaken by one riding hard?"

Aragorn shook his head glumly. "If a man in Gondor's insignia scours the paths to Anórien, he will like be intercepted—or at least spotted—by Ostad's guards, thus doubly endangering both Faramir and those we search for…and without such devices, he would never be able to catch them. Legolas would notice him from too far off, and they would move to avoid the stranger." Aragorn frowned sightlessly at the white towers below him, no longer so pleased that Legolas and Gimli were with Éowyn. "We took such cares to keep his journey secret. I don't understand how anyone learned of it…" he murmured to himself. "That elaborate ruse, so none of their spies in the city would suspect…"

"It could be coincidence," Arwen said neutrally. "Knowing that negotiations have broken down, perhaps it was merely an agitator, intending only to use Éowyn's presence there to cause difficulties."

"One of those 'factions' I have to deal with?" Aragorn sighed.

"It could be someone from Ostad; 'tis not necessarily a Gondorian dissenter," Arwen pointed out diplomatically.

"Yet you also fear it is something more dire than mere mischief," Aragorn said. It was not a question. He stared at the stars, seeking an explanation. Arwen patted his arm in sympathy, then paused.

Her dark eyes narrowed in sudden thought for a long moment. "Things will have changed 'ere nightfall gives way to morning," she said slowly.

Aragorn spun to face her. "What have you foreseen?" he asked eagerly.

Arwen closed her eyes in concentration, then shook her head. "Nothing," she sighed. "It is gone."

Aragorn's shoulders slumped. "And I can see nothing at all."

Arwen took his hand and drew him gently from the balcony. "Come to sleep, my lord. You had best find some rest early, for I fear you will be awake long before the night is ended."

Aragorn frowned into the distance one last time before allowing himself to be pulled away. "I wish only that I knew whether to rejoice at that thought, or rail…"

…………….

The round moon bathed the White City in a cold silver light as Gondor slept. Yet not all of Minas Tirith was wrapped in slumber. The city gates were lit with the pale orange glow of torchlights, giving colored testament to the confrontation at the edge of the city. While those awake kept their tones hushed in efforts to avoid disturbing the rest of the city, they failed in one case.

The King of Gondor, a dark cloak thrown loosely over his nightrobe, had rushed from his chambers, his Ranger senses, long unused but far from discarded, having awoken him instantly. His unlaced boots clattering on the stones, the man named Wingfoot had reached the gate as the three cloaked figures, having finally established their need and right of entrance to the sentries, stumbled through the gateway. Two tall figures in cloaks of gray supported a shorter, staggering one between them. That one collapsed just as Aragorn reached them, falling to the ground at the king's feet.

One of the standing figures spoke a short word to the two horses behind them—"_tolo_"—and they obediently trotted forward.

"Elessar," the other spoke hurriedly in hushed tones, "it is good you are awake, for I fear our tidings cannot wait until morning." They lifted their half-conscious companion, and the man's head lolled back, revealing his face in the flickering torchlight.

"Beregond!" Aragorn exclaimed in shock.

"Come," said the son of Elrond, "this man needs care, but he will refuse it, I am sure, until you hear his words."

A cold dread gripped Aragorn's heart as he silently led the brothers and their burden through his sleeping city…

…………….

"…we tended his injuries as best we could," Elrohir continued the tale while Beregond slept, his king gently unwrapping the stained bandages. The man had refused any attention until he had told Aragorn how Faramir and the White Company had been ambushed. His duty finally seen to, he had slipped into unconsciousness, and the Elven brothers had picked up the narrative from the point where they had entered it by finding the half-dead man staggering towards Minas Tirith. "Neither of us possess our father's skill at healing—nor indeed even your own—but we are yet somewhat versed in it."

"Beregond did but briefly allow us pause to care for him, however," Elladan added, "granting even the time he did most grudgingly when we convinced him that if he died 'ere reaching Minas Tirith 'twould be all effort for naught, and failing his prince besides. He is a valiant man," the Elf added softly.

Elrohir nodded agreement, then continued their story. "We rode without pause, save once when the horses so shook with exhaustion that they could not go on, whereupon we rested for them briefly. I fear the pace 'twas not good for the man, but he would not relent. In truth, we did not press him to slow overmuch, for we agreed on the necessity. This news is not the sort to be brought slowly."

Elladan's bright eyes narrowed on Aragorn's face. "Yet I gather 'tis not entirely unsuspected, for I see less surprise on thy face than I should. What knew you of these tidings, 'ere we came to give them?"

Aragorn shook his head wearily. "I knew naught, but distrusted that all was well, from what I know of occurrences here." Now it was the brothers' turn to listen as Aragorn, in a voice hoarse with tiredness and worry, related the departure of Éowyn and the strange letter that had called her hence…

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Deana –** sorry I made you wait so long! At least I warned you ahead of time…

**Aranna –** well, I'm very sorry to hear that. It's Sindarin, and that coincidence is really cool. And—gah! Gah! Finger, agh! Heal, get better, be all better, eek! If I dreamed, I would so have nightmares about what will happen next time I work with my xacto knife… I hope you're all better now!

**ForeverFaramir –** Bwahaha! Keep thinking; as you can tell now, you're on the right track! And I'm glad you like the pacing, I keep worrying that it might be getting too drawn out, but there's a lot of set-up to cover and…well, I just really appreciate hearing that it's working. Thank you!

**Laiquendi –** Trouble looming, eh? Now why would you think _that_ I wonder… ;)

**Templa Otmena –** Impressive…most impressive. But you're not a lurker yet—YAY! Down with lurking:P Hee hee, don't worry about it, really! Fire extinguisher, maybe? Watch for sparks… Beautiful evil laugh, beautiful! Just keep your hands and arms inside the ride and please make sure that your loose items are accounted for. Thank you! _blows kiss!_

**Avalon –** Oh, you think you've seen dense? The Elf and the Dwarf would like to state that they aren't _nearly _as dense as the Men are going to be when _they _finally show up…although they _do _agree with you that Men are dense. Yep, gotta have the obligatory musical number, dontcha? Thanks, you rock too! Love your Eighth Age bit, keep writing!

**Lil Pippin Padfoot –** I'm sorry to hear that your toes aren't agile enough for the feat. And I'm so glad you like it! Tee, yes, I tend to jump perspective a lot, especially this chapter. Helps with timing methinks…that, and I honestly don't know how people stick to one viewpoint for a long time when they have lots of interweaving groups running around and a million things happening (_cough_Thundera-who-needs-to-get-back-to-the-Elf-and-Dwarf-in-LoLaS_cough_) ahem! Anyway, I'm really glad that you're liking it, seriousness and all. ;)

**flowerbee1 –** I'm Tolkienesque! I'm Tolkienesque! _does a great big happy ewok dance! _And, er…let's never mention such idiocy on my part again. Well, unless I do something like that again. Then mention it. Please! Yeah…um…more bribery! Here, have more nutella!

**EastCoastie –** Reverse psychol…oh...bugger. You looked, eh? Well, I guess you'd know by now anyway, what with me whacking him upside the head a few paragraphs ago… Ergh, I'll go through and fix those…I always try to be so careful checking for them, too…grr… Yep, everybody has to love the Elf and Dwarf! Oh, and the other is either _Exploring Darkness _or _Shadows Creeping _so I guess you just sort of twisted and combined them and don't worry, my memory is awful too, so I'm always happy to help out others! Aw, and get well soon! Lots of orange juice—I swear, I practically have a Vitamin C iv right now trying to stay healthy… Hot tea with honey, it's my panacea!

**Jebb –** Saddled with horse lovers, hee hee…sorry, pun-alert… Poor Gimli indeed:)

_I just want to thank everyone once again for the lovely feedback. It looks like I'll hopefully be able to keep this one to a weekly update schedule, but that's about it. So…see you next week, same time, same channel?_

_…Actually I don't know about the time, really. The quote just required me to say that. But it should be sometime between Thursday afternoon and Friday evening, usually, that I manage to get the update out. Anyway, it'll be sometime over the week-end, that ought to be specific enough. So…until next episode, at whatever time that shall be! Hey, I don't even do commercials, what more do you want? ;)_

**Okay, lots of formatting trouble this time with punctuation. I don't know what's up...I think I caught it all, but if you see anything funky it probably means I mixed correcting it, let me know so I can do so! Thanks!**


	5. Tripping on Treacherous Grass

Here we are, folks! Same time(ish), same channel, back for more mayhem in Middle-earth! Will our heroes survive the night? And what about the next morning? Only time will tell! Mwahaha!  
…please don't ask…just read. I don't know. I really, really don't know. Don't ask, just read…

* * *

Chapter Five

Gimli tossed another log on the flames and watched the sparks dance into the sky, blending with the white stars above. Then he snorted and dipped his head. He was getting to be as dreamy as an Elf. Speaking of the Elf…Gimli snorted again and shook his head. The addle-brained, dunder-headed moron…

The Dwarf's two taller companions were dancing in the darkness. Éowyn had determined that when they returned to Gondor after their journey, the Elf would be able to participate in the new dances—as the only human ones he knew were from centuries ago, still commonly practiced in Mirkwood, but only occasionally in mortal lands. Legolas emphatically maintained that he was quite content to simply watch the ungainly humans trip and twirl around the dance floor, but Éowyn and Aragorn had decided that both of their Elves would learn to enjoy and participate in human festivities. Arwen had been more gracious about it than Legolas, who had done his best to persuade them against it. Elves were not the only ones who could be stubborn, however, and eventually he had given in. They would have taught Gimli as well—had indeed tried to—but soon learned their folly.

And now, after three full days of riding, the two of them were prancing around in the darkness like…like Hobbits after too much ale! While Legolas would never trip on grass, however dark the night might get, Éowyn had stumbled enough for the both of them. Hiding a smile in his beard as the Elf steadied his partner, Gimli turned his amusement into a grumble while he checked the temperature of their dinner. It was just about ready for eating, he decided with satisfaction. Just as he raised his head to call the two frolickers away from their lessons, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight upright.

Apparently the Elf had sensed the same thing, and was even now, Gimli knew, cursing himself for being too distracted to notice sooner. A quick hand-motion was all that the Elf needed to convey his intentions to the Dwarf. Legolas smoothly pushed Éowyn to the grass and slipped a long white knife free from its sheath—while, Gimli was sure, berating himself severely for leaving his bow beyond his reach on the other side of the fire. Gimli scowled at their dinner, trying to balance it on a rock while he carefully reached for his axe. Éowyn grasped her sword's hilt, but at a look from Legolas did not yet pull it free; the noise of the blade would give away their readiness.

It was thus with surprise on both sides that they met their ambushers, for the dark figures had thought their prey unprepared. Steel flashed from both parties as the three travelers leaped to their feet, weapons already swinging to stop their opponents' blades. Legolas's white knife caught the firelight as it flashed in and out, slicing the long staff held by the nearest dark-cloaked figure into three small segments. He twisted, his foot knocking the now-disarmed man to the ground as the Elf spun into another one whose sword was just beginning to descend on his pale head. He ducked the steel and came up inside the man's reach, cracking the hilt of his knife into the other's face. He dodged the spray of blood and knocked the man to the ground.

Gimli swung his heavy axe in a wide arc from his position on the log and smashed two of the strangers in the shins with the dull part of his weapon. They tumbled heavily to the ground as the Dwarf flew to his feet. However, he stood a bit too quickly for the dew-slippery grass, and suddenly understood why there had been so much stumbling during the dancing. He managed to keep his feet, but at the same time kicked their dinner from its precarious position on the rocks ringing the fire. It tumbled into the ashes, and Gimli cursed loudly in his first tongue. His eyes were narrow sparks of rage as he turned to face the foes who were only now crawling painfully to their feet on bruised legs. He roared, and raised his axe high. They dove to either side as his blade crashed down between them. He wrenched it from the ground and stepped backwards, careful not to follow their dinner into the fire.

Éowyn's Rohirric yell started the opponent she had chosen, and she sent his blade spinning from his hand. He caught her wrist as she swung back, and they grappled for her blade. But this shieldmaiden was no frail lady; she yanked hard on her blade and smashed the heavy pommel into the side of his head. He dropped to his knees with a moan, and she raised the sword again to knock him fully unconscious. He kicked out with a booted foot and caught her heavily in her gut. She fell to the ground painfully as he yanked on her ankle, and grabbed for a knife in his belt. Éowyn struggled to sit up, dragging on her sword, but he struck her across the face with a savage blow before she could recover. He pressed the knife to her throat as her head lolled backwards…

With a speed that would never be matched by any human, and could hardly be seen by their eyes in the flame-cast darkness, Legolas rolled away from the two figures he was fighting. He sprang across the dark grass and landed lightly in front of Éowyn and her attacker. Raising empty hands, he caught the man's eyes with the ageless gaze of his own.

"Stop!" he cried in a soft voice that was both commanding and entreating at the same time. "Cease your struggle, stranger; we surrender ourselves. Leave the lady be, and tell us what purpose you have in so attacking us unannounced."

Gimli was, if it was possible, even more startled than their attackers. He gaped at his friend, who had somehow lost his Elvish aloofness and pride with a glance to become…he could hardly process the word in association with the Elven prince…_meek_. His axe drooped in his hands and he had to clutch at the haft to keep from dropping it completely in his shock. Legolas glanced at the Dwarf and their eyes locked for a moment. There was something strange in those cloudy depths, but there was no mistaking the command in them: _be still_. Gimli scowled and clutched his axe tighter, but made no move to attack.

"You trespass on lands which do not welcome you," the man with the knife spoke after a moment. "You shall be brought to the council for judgement on your presence here."

Legolas looked confused—confused enough that Gimli knew it was an act, for the Elf never showed strong emotions in front of strangers, let along enemies; he barely allowed uncertainty to show among friends. "I had thought that these lands belonged to Gondor," he responded, innocent puzzlement dripping in his voice. "And to my knowledge, they greet not travelers who show no hostility in such violent a fashion, although I admit my knowledge could well be out-of-date, for it has been many years since I last walked these lands, and things are wont to change in mortal realms."

Gimli blinked, wondering what by all the mithril in Moria the daft Elf was doing now. Glaring at the two ambushers who now flanked him perfectly, however, he held still, willing to let the Elf play out whatever game he was spinning.

The knife moved a few centimeters away from Éowyn's throat, and both Gimli and Legolas relaxed marginally. "These lands no longer belong solely to Gondor," sneered the attacker. "They will soon have a new master permanently, but for now, we must be certain no Gondor spies"—here he spat on the ground—"sneak around to report these changes to their foolish king. So, you will come with us. Offer trouble, and we will kill the woman—for we do not need all of you alive to reach the city; only one." He smiled broadly, a foul expression reeking of orcs.

Legolas bowed his head in submission. "As you say," he replied softly. "We will offer no resistance on the journey to your city. I give you my word."

Gimli was smoldering now, and vowed that he would soon avenge both the insult to Aragorn and the injury to Éowyn. For now, he would trust his friend—but he would be certain to get satisfaction from this foul man at the end of his axe.

…………

The Dwarf's anger had only increased as the night wore on. Legolas had managed to convince their captors that a brief rest was only sensible; the darkness, after all, was quite thick, and their progress would be slow with Éowyn only half-conscious. The Dwarf had heard only fragments of the conversation, for neither of the parties involved had been kind enough to speak at a volume he could hear comfortably. Yet he knew that he did not like what he had heard; the Elf had not cowed the man by bringing to bear his powerful Elvish authority. He did not use the ancient wisdom of the Elves and turn the man's words back upon him with scorn and wisdom beyond mortals—other than Dwarves, of course. Rather, he had bent his head and placated the evil man, appearing weak and submissive. Thranduil would have been incensed to see his son act so, and Aragorn would hardly have recognized the prideful Elf. The Dwarf had shot his friend dark glances, but he had been ignored, first for Legolas was conversing with their captors' leader, and then because he was tending to Éowyn—carefully never looking in his friend's direction.

Gimli did not know what words the Elf had spoken to her when she woke, but they had not been ones to gladden her heart. It was only barely that the Elf had convinced her, in hushed and hurried tones too quiet for the Dwarf to catch, to do as he bid, and the lady subsided gracelessly to his plans. Fortunately, she had still been bleary, and their captors, anxious to waste no more time, had tied her to her horse, where she eventually lapsed back into sleep. Holdwyn was being led with a jury-rigged halter by one of the men, and it was a toss-up as to which one was less happy at the circumstance. Windfolla was behaving, likely because her mistress was on her back.

Gimli, certainly, was the least happy of the little group, and he was determined to have words with the Elf. He would have his explanation, or he would personally see their captors felled right now. How he would do that with his hands bound in front of him he did not know, nor did he care. The rage of an angry Dwarf is a powerful thing, and it was only his deep trust in his friend that now restrained it—barely.

"Well?" he growled quietly as he trudged along next to the Elf, whose bowed head and slow gait were, Gimli thought, overdoing it quite a bit.

Legolas glanced at Gimli out of the corner of his eye through a curtain of pale hair. He could tell that the Dwarf was ready to rip their captors limb from limb barehanded, and he would blame him little if he did. He debated quickly about how much to tell his friend, but decided that he could not share the secrets of others—he had no rights to those secrets himself; he could not give them away.

"Yes, my friend?"

Gimli's scowl, if that was possible, became even more pronounced. He had seen Legolas's "innocent" act enough times to recognize it instantly. He was already in a foul mood, and was far from eager to engage in their customary game of words. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I am doing as instructed, and walking."

"Which is entirely the problem," the Dwarf hissed into his beard. "We are doing _as instructed_ by our _captors_. We have routed entire orc bands before, and you surrendered us into the keeping of a few foolish, half-competent men. Have you entirely lost your wits?"

"Nay, my friend, there is purpose in what I do." Legolas sensed that his friend was near the end of his scant patience, and decided to try it no further.

"Then perhaps you should share it? It sits hard on my pride to let these fools lead me about!" His temper was rising, causing his voice to do likewise. One of their captors glanced over, and they were forced to fall silent. Seeing nothing but a prisoner sad and subdued and the other apparently red-faced from the exertion of keeping up with the others' longer legs, he shrugged and turned his attention outwards again.

Legolas waited another few moments to be sure that they were not being overheard by their guards, but as Gimli could tell that his friend had finally made up his mind to share his thoughts, the Dwarf waited more-or-less patiently until he was ready to speak.

"Would you rather wound your pride, my friend, or risk hurt to the Lady Éowyn?"

Gimli blustered, speechless; there was only one answer to that question, and the Elf knew full well what it was.

"Then I ask you to continue in your trust in me; there is more going on here than I can tell within the presence of our temporary captors."

"They had best be most temporary, or I fear I shall need to knock in a few skulls, and if you will not allow me to bash these men I shall have to turn to an Elf to relieve me frustration on," the Dwarf threatened darkly.

Legolas hid a smile. "I promise you, my friend, our captivity is only a ruse. In truth, we are their captors, and they are our escort to let us enter unhindered into—" Legolas paused and glanced at two of the men conversing quietly. "Do you trust me, _elvellon_?"

"With my life and more," Gimli answered truthfully.

"Then pray do not give any sign of confusion at my next actions."

Gimli looked up, startled and suspicious. "And just what will those actions be…?"

"Your pardon, please; you shall see in moments." Leaving the Dwarf sputtering quietly, Legolas casually wandered to the side, where their "temporary captors" had a better view of him. They proceeded quietly for a short space, and Gimli began to relax, thinking that whatever the hair-brained Elf had planned, he had now thought better of it.

Then Legolas gave a cry and fell to the ground, clutching his ankle. Gimli leaped forward, nearly falling to the ground himself as, forgetting his hands were bound and his weapon taken, he grabbed wildly for his axe to aid his friend against whatever attack he was sure had just descended upon them. He was shoved roughly aside as one of their captors—a foul-looking dark-haired man with black eyes and a scraggly beard—hurried, short-sword drawn, to the fallen Elf. Another of the men grabbed Gimli by the shoulder as he struggled upright and shoved him back down, holding a blade at his throat. Gimli struggled until he heard words disguised in Legolas's moans: "_sedho, mellon nin._" None of the men, being not at all fluent in Sindarin, had noticed the command.

Gimli obeyed, wondering what scheme the crazy Elf had in mind, and what in the world he was trying to do now. He was seething, silently cursing the Elf in all the tongues he knew even the barest fragments of, for not telling him his foolish plan in the beginning. Gimli hated not knowing what was going on, especially when it was the thrice-cursed Elf who was in charge. You never knew what Elves were thinking, and personally, Gimli occasionally doubted whether Legolas even knew how to think.

He turned his head, and managed to watch through a face-full of grass as two of the men hauled the Elf to his feet. Legolas moaned again and sagged limply in their grasp. "My ankle," he gasped, pained. The Dwarf stopped moving completely and his face went slack. Elves did not stumble and twist their ankles! Gimli knew instantly that this must have been what Legolas had been telling him about earlier, but he had no idea how faking an injury would aid them; surely the Elf was not idiotic enough to believe that if their guards underestimated him he could single-handedly—with hands still bound, no less—handle them all? No, not even the flighty prince would be that stupid…Gimli hoped.

A third man, who seemed to be their leader, walked over to the two holding the Elf upright. One of them broke away, leaving the other to support the prince, and they had a hurried conversation. They spoke too quietly for Gimli to overhear them, but he knew that while Legolas gave no sign of paying any attention, the Elf was listening carefully to their every word, and would likely be able to recite it back verbatim later if requested to do so.

Gimli intended to request it, along with a great many other things besides.

None of the men seemed happy with the decision they reached when the leader came around and quietly informed them of it, but they restrained their grumbling to casting foul looks at the "injured" Elf. They were soon on their way again, after another brief argument, this time with the Elf seated on Holdwyn. The bonds tying his hands had been double-checked, and two men walked on either side of the horse, one holding a jury-rigged halter securely. Gimli walked between the two horses, with another guard close behind him. The remaining company was spread in front of Windfolla and behind Holdwyn, and they all looked highly anxious for their trip to end. Gimli was merely anxious for them to reach their night's camp so he could quiz the Elf more closely on his crazed scheme—and by the grace of the Lady Galadriel, he had better like the answers.

…………

The stars looked small and weak when they finally peeked through the clouds that dimmed the night. Éowyn gingerly slid from the saddle, careful with her bound hands—far more careful than she would ordinarily have been, and also far more awkward. Éowyn had grown up on the back of a horse, spending as much time learning to ride as she had to walk. She had not been saddle sore since she was tall enough to swing herself onto a horse unaided. Yet she walked gingerly now, wincing a little as her feet touched ground for the first time that day, pretending to be in pain from the long ride. She swayed a bit, and allowed one of her captor's to prop her upright again, although inside she was seething at the touch. But Legolas had given her strict instructions, and she would follow them, whatever plan they were meant to further. She would soon know exactly what his strange purpose was, for she would not allow the Elf to hedge out of explanations tonight. She could tell that Gimli had the same thought in mind from his purposeful stride towards their companion, and the steely glint in his eyes.

Legolas sat where Holdwyn and the men had deposited him, rubbing his ankle as if he were in severe pain. The other two had been instructed to sit near him, where the fire would soon be built, but not too near—their captors did not want them plotting anything while they were busy setting up camp. The Elf glanced at Gimli and tilted his head slightly; whatever message he was conveying Éowyn could not tell, but Gimli seemed to understand instantly, for he slowed his stride slightly and dropped down next to the Elf. Loudly, with concern carefully lacing his voice—the tension that showed how very, very patient the Dwarf was being would like be taken by worry by their guards, unfamiliar with him as they were—as he inquired into his friend's health.

"And how bad is your ankle, Master Elf?" His scowl was enough to crack rock without hammer or chisel, but only the Elf could see the glower directed at him.

Legolas carefully pitched his voice so that it would not carry, and replied calmly to the Dwarf. Éowyn did not catch the entire reply, being too far away, but whatever he had said, it ended with, "continue your trust."

Éowyn—remembering to stumble—awkwardly dropped to the ground next to the other two. "Perhaps it would be easier to trust you, my friend, if you told us what you had planned."

Legolas looked from one to the other. Éowyn could see him resign himself to the fact that they would insist on hearing the entirety of his plans—and that he had a feeling that they would object to them at least in part, if not entirety. Nevertheless, the Elf was nothing if not scrupulously honest, and when he made up his mind to tell them everything, that is exactly what he would do.

"Very well," the Elf said, so quietly they could barely hear him speak. "These men are obviously from Ostad, which means that all there is not as peaceful as we might believe; hence, no doubt, the true reason for Faramir's…visit. I suspect that things have gone wrong for Prince Faramir and his companions, and now am certain that he would never have sent for you, my lady." There was a strange look in the Elf's deep eyes; not for the first time, Éowyn wondered exactly how much the Elf knew, and what he guessed. He continued, though, without saying anything about what he had guessed—or knew. "Although I have no wish to lead…anyone into a potentially dangerous situation"—Éowyn looked sharply at Legolas, silently telling him that she had caught his hesitation as he decided it would be better to say 'anyone' than 'Lady Éowyn.' He had the grace to look down, slightly embarrassed, but paused only slightly—"I feel that there is enough risk to Faramir and the others with him that we cannot waste the time to return to Gondor and seek aid. Still, it is obvious now that we are travelling through dangerous territory."

Gimli snorted. "Annoying, perhaps, but these incompetents are hardly what I would classify as being dangerous—at least as long as one is not a flighty, cowardly Elf."

Legolas glared at the Dwarf, but did not give in to the temptation of retorting to the jibe. "In order to reduce the danger of our travels to Ostad, we will utilize the kindly-offered services of our escort." He indicated the men setting up a careful camp around them. "They will get us safely to our destination, where we will then no longer require their aid—at which point, my friend," he smiled at Gimli, "you may bash as many skulls as you desire to."

"It will be about time," Gimli growled, eyeing the nearest of their captors with anticipation.

Éowyn nodded. "Yet I do not understand why I must act as if saddle sore, or why you are pretending a limp—for we both know fully that there is no possible way that your fall was genuine."

"If you arranged all of that simply so that you could ride instead of walking," Gimli cautioned, "I will be most put out."

Legolas smiled. "Fear not, my friend, it was necessity, not laziness, which lead to my 'injury.' I overheard our captors, and thought that it would be best if they sent no one ahead to inform the city guard of our imminent arrival, as they had intended to do prior to my accident."

"So by making them guard you, they have no one left to send?"

"Ay, my lady," he nodded to her. "Yet I would ask both of you to be most—"

"You!" one of the men turned and saw the three of them conversing. "No talking! Move apart!" He glowered at them, and Gimli only swallowed his own wrath at the insistent pressure of Legolas's hand on his arm.

"Be patient, my friends," Legolas whispered as he assisted the bound Éowyn to her feet, taking care to not show amusement at Gimli's own efforts to raise himself from the ground. The Dwarf, he knew, would never accept an offer of assistance, but would likely truly injure himself attempting to rise faster were one tendered. "I judge from their anxiety that we be few days indeed from our destination."

"Good," Gimli growled as he managed to get his stocky feet underneath him at last, "the sooner I can retrieve my axe the better."

"One would never wish for it to be lonely," Legolas whispered to her softly. Éowyn bit back a laugh, and Gimli glared at the two of them, apparently knowing his friend well enough to guess at the target of his quiet comment.

"The only question," the Dwarf continued as if he had merely paused a moment, "is whether my axe shall meet with Men or Elves when I get my hands on it again." Éowyn could see Legolas fighting with a reply, but the Elf restrained himself; after all, he was supposed to appear meek in front of their captors, and it would never do to be seen trading barbs with the Dwarf.

Éowyn shook her head at the strange pair and smiled. Like a true daughter of Rohan, she buried her worries behind her shield, trusting that she was fated to meet Faramir again soon. She would be strong; even the Elf would not be able to see that she feared for her love. Fumbling more than was necessary, even with her tightly bound hands, Éowyn wrapped herself in her cloak with a last glance at the faint, hazy stars overhead.

…………

Light swam painfully through the curtain of his eyelids as Beregond slowly found consciousness again. He heard muffled sounds, and tried to lift his head to see what was happening—there was some dire reason, he knew, that he had to awake—but found that it took all of his concentration to slowly—agonizingly slowly—lift his eyelids. They felt as heavy as orc armor, and twice as cumbersome. Eventually, however, he managed to will them upwards, only to moan quietly as the daggers of blinding sunlight pierced through his pounding skull.

"Lie still," a voice rumbled through his head like an avalanche. The light shifted, and he felt a cool hand on his brow. A soft, healthful sent spread vigor through him, and he blinked, gradually bringing the world into focus. One of the Elven twins—he could not tell which—held a bowl of steaming liquid near his bed. King Aragorn was bent over him, murmuring soft words in an Elvish tongue.

"My liege," he rasped painfully, but Aragorn shushed him.

"Lie still Beregond. You have done your duty well; you have my gratitude."

Memory burst through the fog around his brain, and Beregond sat up abruptly. "Lord Faramir!" he cried, then fell back on the pillows in agony.

"You must lie still, Beregond. You were nearer to death when Elladan and Elrohir brought you in than many I have seen; to have come so far in such a condition was a most dangerous gamble."

"But…my liege…" he gasped, fighting to stay awake through the blinding pain, "Lord Faramir…"

"Fear not, good captain," the king reassured him, "you told your news. Even now Elrohir prepares a small group of Dúnedain to travel to his aid, while Arwen finds us excuse to depart in secret. All that can be done is being done; you need now to rest and recover thy strength."

"But, Highness…Lord Faramir…I must go to him…"

"Hush, Beregond. Sleep now. I shall not depart 'ere you awake."

"But my king," he protested once more.

"_Losto_," Aragorn commanded, gently but firmly, smoothing the man's fevered brow with a healing hand.

Beregond slept.

* * *

_By the way, please, please, _please_ correct my Elvish when I make a mistake! I haven't had time to learn more than a few words in it, and very little grammar—hence the reason I'm avoiding using much of it. I know I'll screw it up. So for those of you who've gotten further along than me in Sindarin, please tell me how to correct my mistakes, and I promise I will! And beyond my serious lack of skill, I've also managed to leave all my Elvish documents behind when I went to college…and then been stupid enough not to remember to grab them over winter break…and they don't do me much good at home, do they?_

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Deana –** knowing our Elf? Something painful, no doubt. ;)

**Avalon –** Legolas and Gimli beam and say thank you very much. Good little stupid males indeed… Yep, ambush it is, and the twins, too! Hee hee, Elves and more Elves! I'm a happy person…

**Lil Pippin Padfoot –** Mwahahahahaha! Evil laughter time, pet! Lots and lots of evil laughter, and even some rubbing of hands. Poor _allllll _of them when they're in _my _control! Mwahaha. Rock on, Pip.

**Laiquendi –** Mwahahahaha again? Okay, how about _bwahahahahaha_ this time instead, okay? Gotta keep that evil laughter fresh and creative…

**Jebb –** It's a pity I'm not musical enough (being tone deaf and all) to put in a score…then they'd always know when something foreboding was about to happen. Gimli? Miracle? You mean…like speaking with Legolas for more than five seconds without dropping into banter? Hey, it _is _the "synamic duo," remember? What do you expect? ;)

**ForeverFaramir –** How can I be so cruel? Easily! I'm the Mistress of Evil! Thank you—those compliments almost tempt me enough to tell you there'll be a happy ending. …almost. Heh.

**flowerbee1 –** Innit it though? And thanks! I'm _so _glad you like my kind and queen. :)

**Slayer3 –** Yes Gollum, here you are, an update. And I'll throw in a fresh, raw and wriggling fish for you, too. Now leave my eyes alone, you! _scowls. _And who you calling "menses," bub:P

**Aranna –** Very nice. Always good to keep convenient twins handy. I'm glad to hear that your finger is fully recovered. Oh man, I found this picture when I was searching the internet, and it's a drawing of Legolas on a horse (back view) and on his shirt it says "if you can read this, the Dwarf fell off." I almost died, I swear! I wish I could remember where I saw it, I'd give you the link… And quite entirely forgiven, lovely! Hope your weekend was fun, wherever it was! _Shadows _will be out either later tonight or tomorrow morning!

**East Coastie –** It's all good indeed. Er…or maybe not. Feel better soon! Try some athelas, I hear it works wonders. Oh, and does that mean that I'm allowed to whack him again? It'll add to the suspense…! Good luck on algebra—ick. May the Force be with you.

_Thanks again, everyone! Much appreciated, as always. See you all in a week!_ :)


	6. The Elvish Perspective

Chapter Six

Arwen watched the dark sky as the sun began to creep up from its sleep. She usually found the changing of the day beautiful and soothing, but today it seemed more to her as if a dangerous fire was growing to consume the night. Granted, it had been grievously less than peaceful, but something told the Elven queen that the day could well prove worse. She shivered, although she was not cold, and drew her robes more securely about her shoulders.

"Arwen," a soft voice from behind her broke her dark reverie.

She turned and smiled at her brother. "Elrohir," she spoke as quietly as he had, sure that he could hear her as well as she could him, a feeling that she experienced rarely among her new people. "How fares Beregond?"

"Elladan and Aragorn are caring for him. We have much mended him, and this long-delayed rest has done much good, perhaps more even than our medicines. By the time the sun is fully risen, I doubt little but that he will have forced himself from his bed out of fear for his prince."

Arwen nodded. "He cares deeply for Faramir."

Elrohir nodded, but his attention was not on the wounded man. "_And you, my sister_?" he asked softly, switching to Sindarin. "_How do you fare?_"

Arwen looked at the distant sunrise again. "_I am troubled,_" she replied honestly. "_Some darkness threatens us all, but what it is, none can say._"

"_None can say but those who control it,_" the other Elf answered darkly. His deep gray eyes were heavily shadowed. "_I feel the same foreboding you do, my sister,_" he said after a moment. "_And yet I can place it no more than you. Elladan feels the same, and I suspect that Aragorn is likewise frustrated by this lack of clear knowledge._"

Arwen nodded. "He is troubled," she said quietly in the Westron tongue. "_His foresight is as silent as mine_," she continued in her native speech. "_And yet he feels the darkness as clearly as I do—or perchance I should say, as ill-clearly, for therein lies the difficulty._" She fell silent, staring sightlessly into the sunrise, as if hoping that the rising sun would likewise illuminate the shadows in her thoughts.

Elrohir stepped closer and put an arm around her shoulders. "_All things pass,_" he reminded her gently.

"_I know,_" she whispered back, "_but one thing I have learned amongst mortals is that some things pass far better than others do._"

"_That is not restricted to mortals alone_," he corrected her. "_Often, it is those who see the passing longest that find the deepest sorrow in it._" He fell silent, and Arwen could hear his unspoken question.

"I have made my choice," she told him, "and I do not regret it."

"I know," her brother answered her, "but I do."

They stood together in silence as the sun slowly climbed the sky, banishing the deep night and dancing stars with red flames overhead.

…………….

The sky had but the faintest tint of color in it. Legolas judged that he had just enough time, if he acted quickly, before the camp stirred for the day. The last sentry of the night was drooping tiredly, and the others had yet to wake. The Elf had lain still for the entire night, pretending to sleep as mortals do. Gimli had looked at him questioningly the first night he had done so, but had been contented when Legolas explained that their captors would be less than amenable to letting him wander aimlessly around the camp lost in Elvish dreams while they slept, as was his traditional nightly routine. Keeping his eyes closed had been the most difficult part of it, for he could only watch the stars dance when the guards looked in other directions. Now he made certain to keep them tightly shut, for the first pale strains of day were only moments away from illuminating the camp. Still, he had figured that this would be the time when their guards would be the least alert, for the night was over and the day of travel had not yet begun.

Carefully, the Elvish prince slowly twisted his hands so that his slim fingers could reach the knots in his bonds. Moving with agonizing slowness—even for someone with the patience of immortality—Legolas softly tugged at the ropes. It would never do for his bonds to seem loose when the men checked them in the morning, and yet he would get no better opportunity to undo them—and he judged that soon it would be too late for him to act as was needed. Their captors were getting increasingly anxious, and his falling stunt, while necessary to prevent word from going ahead of them, had only added to their nervousness.

Legolas wished that he could fully tell his plans to Gimli and Éowyn, but he knew of no opportunity to do so. Gimli had a decent grasp of the simpler concepts of Sindarin, but even if the Dwarf could understand enough, speaking thusly would let their captors know that there was something planned. No, sharing anything in Elvish would be far too suspicious, and besides, Éowyn knew few words of the Elvish tongue. The Common language was no help, as the men were all fluent in it, and anyway, speaking together for any length of time would be, the Elf was certain, highly frowned upon. Neither he nor Gimli knew much of Rohan's speech, although the Dwarf had picked up more than the Elf had, spending time as he did in Aglarond. At any rate, that still left them with the same problem as Sindarin.

But perhaps the problem with Sindarin was not as bad as it had at first appeared. Legolas mentally berated himself for being so slow to think of the solution. He put it down to being too concerned over Éowyn, but knew that there was no excuse for this failing. At the least, he could share his basic plan with Gimli—although the guards might well command him to be silent before he could do so in entirety. Ah, well; if he was careful, he was likely to get much of his point across before they stopped him. At any rate, it would do no good not to attempt it.

His next act fell into much the same vein of thinking. This was slightly more risky, but even more necessary. If the worst should come to pass, he knew he could count on Gimli and Éowyn to react much the way he wanted them to—especially Gimli, for the Dwarf was chaffing at the captivity more than either of the other two companions.

Their captors roused them, none too gently, for their ride. They were permitted a brief repast which was, Gimli loudly assured them ever day, barely enough to keep a bird alive, let alone fortify them for a long day of hard travel. By this the third day of the journey, the men were visibly growing less and less tolerant of the Dwarf's grumbling and curses, but Legolas saw no reason to restrain his friend. While their captors might be unschooled enough in the manner of Dwarves not to be aware, Legolas knew that it was far preferable to give Gimli an outlet for him temper than to attempt to restrain it. Restraining a Dwarf was easier said than done, and it was difficult enough to keep Gimli from outright attacking them right now. Let him grumble and threaten and curse; it was far less than they deserved to receive at the Dwarf's hands.

Besides, right now it kept their attention focused on him. Legolas was free to slip from their awareness. He was still pretending to be unable to walk without assistance—a ruse which he had made use of to partially loosen the bonds tied around Gimli's hands when the Dwarf had given it to him, although his friend had been too busy grumbling to notice—but he was as light on his feet as ever. He was also as talented at disappearing from the awareness of unfriendly eyes as any Elf of the realm once called Mirkwood.

"_Dartho_," he whispered to Windfola and Holdwyn, cautioning the horses to be silent. They stopped grazing and held still while Legolas's quick hands darted into one of the packs by their hooves. Something thin and sharp vanished inside the Elf's tunic, and he quickly secured the flap on the bag again. He then gave a cry and dropped to the ground, as if he had tried to mount Holdwyn on his own and, due to his injured ankle, had been unable to do so.

There was instant uproar among the men. Legolas knew that their yells at him for daring to go near the horses unsupervised were nothing compared to the violent oaths the leader would later shower on his men for losing sight of the Elf. He apologized and timidly hung his head, careful to keep his lips from twitching into the smile that would give him away.

…………….

Aragorn was fastening his cloak when he realized he was not alone. He turned to the doorway to see his wife watching him, something unreadable in her gray eyes. "Arwen?" he asked softly.

"The preparations have been made, my lord," she replied, which was no answer. "The soldiers will have the correct rumors well-spread by noontime, and the head of the Healing Houses is already here, although displeased at being kept in the dark as to the truth of our purpose."

Aragorn knew that the occasionally necessary deceptions of the politics of men sat ill with her, but he also knew that she was accustomed to them. Something more was bothering her. "Is your brother well, then?" he asked, giving her the opportunity without pressing her.

She smiled, sensing instantly what he was doing. "Elrohir does not think that I have made the correct decision," she answered. "Our inevitable parting will be hard for him."

"Then he has made his decision? He will travel to Valinor?" Aragorn asked, still neatly avoiding the heart of the subject.

"Not yet," Arwen said as she moved into the room and began packing the things Aragorn had searched through back into their trunk. "But I know what their decision will be, as do they. Although none of us will discuss it, I believe that they will depart 'ere much time has passed."

Knowing that to the Elves, "much time" could be anywhere from two months to fifty years or longer, Aragorn did not ask for clarification. Elladan had alluded to as much in the night when their conversation had wandered, although he also had said nothing of certainty. The twins were loath to leave their sister, but no more could they bear to be parted from Elrond and Celebrían and the rest of their kin for all eternity. For the Elves, there is no such thing as a happy ending; only the bittersweet.

Arwen smiled at him, seeing the pain for her in his eyes. "Fear not, my love; I do not regret my choice. The joy I have far outweighs my sorrow. Such is all that the Elves can hope for, for we understand sorrow well. I will be saddened to see them leave, but I would not trade this life for that." She moved to his side and spoke softly in Sindarin. "_Gerich veleth nîn, meltha_." They held each other for a brief moment, but duty ever calls in Gondor, and the king had a journey to begin.

Dressed in garb that had seen little use since he took the throne, Elessar Telcontar once more looked like the man that had first received the name of Strider. He joined two others garbed in similar rough clothes, and a slimmer figure in a gray cloak that matched his own. They mounted horses with no spoken word, and prepared to depart. Aragorn looked back at Arwen and Elladan as they watched. Elvish eyes spoke clearly to mortal ones, and then he turned his steed and rode out of the gate, followed by an Elf and two men, little more than shadows in the pale light of dawn.

…………….

At last they set off, although their captors were now seething as well as antsy. Perhaps Legolas had pushed his luck as far as he should today, but he had one task yet that needed to be done. He began humming, too quietly for anyone to hear at first, then gradually growing louder. The two men walking by Holdwyn's nose tensed at first, but soon relaxed with the gentle melody. Gradually, Legolas built words into the tune; it began as one of the songs about Beren and Luthien, but as he increased volume so that the others—particularly Gimli—could make out what he said, he deviated from the traditional wording. The Dwarf, who had been nodding along softly to the music—although he would vehemently deny such a thing if he were asked—paused a moment, but his guard did not seem to notice the brief hesitation.

Perhaps Legolas was simply not skilled enough at blending new words to the old music, or perhaps the man simply remembered himself, but the leader started and turned around. "Be silent!" he ordered the Elf harshly.

Legolas complied, and was gratified to notice that at least two of their captors were less than pleased with the cessation of the song's lifting notes. It had helped to make the miles they had to travel slip by more easily, lost as they had been in the Elvish tune. Legolas smiled softly to himself. So far, everything had gone quite well. As long as he could keep Gimli under control, the Elf began to be confident that they could handle their escape with little problem.

…………….

The citizens of Gondor were antsy. First their King and his trusted Steward had argued, nearly coming to blows. Then there was rumor that some of their fellows were flouting Elessar's authority in their trading enterprises. And now, their beloved King—the first one in eons—had fallen ill. Everyone maintained that it was nothing serious, more overwork than actual illness, easily cured by rest, but they did not believe it. If all he needed was rest, why did not King Aragorn tell them so himself? Why was he hidden within his chambers with the drapes pulled, and messengers running to and fro from the Houses of Healing, bringing medicines and lore? Why did their beautiful Queen Arwen walk with pale, drawn face, and stare into the West? Why were the queen's brothers needed to help maintain order, if the King's illness was nothing serious? How long would he be ill, that the Elven twins had come to aid their sister?

The citizens of Gondor loved their queen far too much to ever think ill of the Elves, but there were those who wondered in their distant thoughts if the Elves might not be looking to the power of Gondor and finding it too great to exist without stricter Elvish control. Not even those who nearly formed these ideas consciously would ever believe that anyone kin to Queen Arwen would deliberately harm their King, but why could the Elves not take advantage of his illness to install their own powers within the White City?

No, the citizens of Gondor loved their queen far too much to think so ill of her people, but then, these ideas did not originate with them. They came slow and slippery from the mouths of men not of Gondor, from careful hints and insinuations of the very spies that Aragorn had been so careful to deceive. It was from the servants of the shadow spreading from Ostad that these dark thoughts came; from the very shadow that Aragorn was even now riding into…

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Susan W – **Yay, a lured-out lurker! Happy ewok dance! But…more about Faramir? Like, how he's doing, where he is, what's going on, that sort of thing? Hmm…nope! You'll just have to wait just like poor Éowyn to find out what's going on with dear Faramir. Hey, what kind of Mistress of Evil would I be if I _told _you? Oh, and Gimli would like to mention that _he _cannot wait as well and he'd be willing to practice with a certain authoress and…okay, moving on while I still have my head…

**Deana – **Well, I still don't know where the link is, but you've seen it now. Anyone else, I'd be glad to send you a copy, too, but I don't want to put it up anywhere as it's not mine and I can't properly credit the artist. If anyone knows the link, though, feel free to share:)

**Elenhin – **Yay! That makes me very happy. Characters, however—I'm not storing it under anyone yet, as I'm not really sure who I ought to choose. Maybe when I get further along someone will have stolen a large enough role that I'll be able to, but as it is, no one yet. But thank you very, very much! Kind regards to you as well.

**Jebb – **Great, I've made _another _Nuzgûl… ;P You keep that up for me; if I ever need an idea, I'll come to you, oh keeper of the potential plot nunnys:D

**Avalon – **I love putting humor in where the tension's high. And…oh dear. Be vewy, vewy quiet, Avie's hunting Elveses…heh. And scaring me a bit, but that's a good thing. ;) Legolas says thank you. And it's definitely true about other males; unless they have pointy ears—or big impressive bushy beards don't hurt me put the axe down!—they're pretty dumb. Which, I suppose, explains your Elf-hunting…lol

**Slayer3 –** Orlando Bloomses calendar, huh? Hmm, well, I'll see what I can do about that. Maybe I can make one magically fall through a plot-hole to land in your lap… Okaaaaay there Sméagol, you go ahead and pokes their eyeses out, just be prepared for Gimli to complain that he wanted to lope off their heads (or knees) first.

**ForeverFaramir – **Wow. That's cool, because I have absolutely no idea where this is going. However, that is an interesting idea…hmmm… Mwuahahaha, do not give the author ideas, she may use them! Heh. Oh yes, definitely, he's such a meek little Elf—put down the arrows! Down!

**Aranna – **You bet they are. ;) Hmm, now I have _two _people giving me ideas for evilness…we'll see… Oh yeah, these Elves, what can we say, perceptive creatures…we'll see what happens _there_, too. I think the pic was somewhere on Deviant Art, but where…? I dunno. Maybe someone will be helpful and tell me…

**Lyn – **Hee, yes, most likely. The best however is when it's not even real Tolkien Elvish…I think I have nightmares that I'm going to put in Grey Company Elvish sometime… And, wow. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Just…thank you. From the depths of my now-beaming heart.

**Lil Pippin Padfoot – **Hello to Andrew, how are you? Gimli's in agreement, he thinks that's the reason too. Lazy Elves. However, it may be a little late to not hurt Faramir. But I'll keep it in mind. ;) Thank Andrew, thanks Pip!

**flowerbee1 –** Aw, have a hug yourself. But…men? Up to something? Why would they be up to something? I mean, it's not like the author is _devious _or anything…

**Quiet Infinity – **You are now entering…The Twilight Zone. Cue theme-music. Oh yes, lots of shadows about poor little Faramir. Why? Because I am evil. Heh heh heh.

**East Coastie – **That's okay, I won't hit him for awhile. Mainly because he'll be gone for a while, but whatever…

**Laiquendi – **Ooh yes, let us cackle and rub our hands together! Mwuahahaha. And—oh crap, here comes Earendil…run! The stars are falling!

**Templa Otmena – **Thank you! Gotta love that Tension-O-Meter, right? Twins are more than foreboding though, Twins are DOOM. And I'm quite glad that I could give you a nice visual. ;) And yes, Gimli thinks they're too tall as well. And…voila, update! Your wish is my et cetera…

And that's it for this week's installment of insanity and banter. And unfortunately, I have nothing witty to say here. Sorry. Must go paint now_—_pointillism, augh. Much time-consumption there. But don't worry, the update will be here next week-end, never fear! ;)


	7. Welcome to the City

Sorry about the wait, finals got a bit overwhelming. Unfortunately, I can pretty much guarantee that there won't be an update next week. I'm going home for spring break, and as it's really short I doubt I'll have much time to get on the computer. I promise to post new chapters as soon as I get back! Anyway, thanks for sticking around through my brief "disappearance," I really appreciate it.

* * *

Chapter Seven

They had been riding hard for two days, and were readily approaching the end of their second night, when Elladan suddenly signaled for them to stop. The others reined in their horses, looking at the tall Elf curiously. He squinted into the distance, as if unsure whether or not he had seen something. Aragorn rode over to his brother-in-law, waiting for the Elf to speak. When he did not, the king asked quietly in Sindarin, "_man cenich;_" what do you see?

Elladan stared hard into the distance, then shook his head. "It is too far to see. I though for a moment there was movement, but now I can see nothing. The sun is rising, and twilight is fading. I do not think that I will see it closer this day…but I have a feeling of watchfulness."

"You think someone is aware of our presence?" Aragorn asked anxiously.

"Nay," the other replied. "It is not directed towards us. It is merely…waiting. I cannot explain it better, but I feel that there are eyes over this land. We would do well to avoid them."

Aragorn thought for a moment. While he likewise did not want to be detected—that was the reason he was travelling with only two Rangers and an Elf, when he would have just as soon led a full company to war—but he sensed that time was against him. "Speed is dire now," he said at last. "Think you that your sight will be sufficient to warn us of the approach of unfriendly eyes with time enough to hide ourselves from them?"

Elladan thought for a moment—he was fiery of temper, but not hasty—then nodded. "Ay," he replied, "unless your woodlore has much deteriorated they will never spot us. We may proceed with haste."

"Good," Aragorn began, but before he could motion for them to continue, Elladan caught his gaze.

"When we draw near to Ostad, though, 'twould be best to restrict out travels to the dark of night, when mortal eyes cannot pierce the shadows."

Aragorn grimaced but nodded agreement. "Very well," he said, "yet let us hope that we encounter our wayward companions long 'ere we come to the city, and can send them back with little fear."

Elladan gave Aragorn a strange look, which the king could not decipher. "Ay," said the Elf, "let us hope…" He fell silent, and Aragorn shivered. Was it his gift of foresight sending chills down his spine, or was it nothing more than that same strange and unexplainable foreboding? Elladan's face was closed, and he could tell that the Elf knew as little as he did—and was just as unhappy about it.

Deciding that things would become clear in time, of which he now had none to waste, Aragorn started forward again, followed closely by his companions, near invisible in the early morning dusk.

…………

Gimli cast a look in the Elf's direction that could have given a Balrog pause. Legolas, however, did not seem to be bothered by it. Perhaps that was because he was not looking in Gimli's direction, but the Dwarf would wager that the addle-brained Elf's senses were acute enough that he could feel the glower directed at him, and was just choosing to ignore it in order to annoy the Dwarf.

Gimli's grasp on Sindarin was nowhere near to perfect, and he personally felt that the Elf could have been gracious enough to speak slower and articulate himself a bit better, if not actually repeat the entire thing at least once. The fact that Legolas had possessed little time in which to speak, and had not been allowed to finish what he was saying, let alone make an attempt to say it again, crossed Gimli's mind fleetingly, but the Dwarf pushed it away. Thoughts like that would interrupt the anger he was nursing against his friend right now, and Gimli was thoroughly enjoying his thoughts of the revenges he would visit upon Legolas's person for these troubles. The fact that Legolas was hardly responsible for their plight, and had in fact been the only one to urge the prudence of a better guard for their journey, was likewise ignored as unnecessary information.

The steadily-nearing rough wooden wall was doing nothing to lighten the Dwarf's foul mood. He knew that the Elf had an escape planned that had something to do with the wall, or gate…or maybe he meant buildings…Gimli sighed. He had not really been listening at first, and by the time he bent his concentration to puzzling out the unfamiliar words, he had missed the beginning of them. He eyed the Elf, wondering when things would start. Gimli did not like not knowing what was going on…especially when it was the thoughts of a flighty Elf they were all depending on! Inside, Gimli trusted Legolas more than anyone in Middle-Earth, even Aragorn, but he would have admitted such a thing under only the most dire of situations. And so, even in his own thoughts, he grumbled at the Elf.

The image that Ostad presented was not an inspiring one, especially for a Dwarf. Gimli's people were workers of good, solid stone. Even the better stone-works of men often left something to be desired. The half-rotted, rickety wooden palisade that surrounded the city looked as if a good, strong breeze would scatter it across the plains. From his position close to the ground, the Dwarf had only gotten a bare glimpse of the supposed towers that made up the inner city before they were obscured by the frail wooden monstrosity that encircled them. _And this is the place that would stand up to Gondor's might?_ Gimli thought with a snort. The knights of Minas Tirith could knock those walls in with nothing more than the strength of their arms! And one well-aimed torch…

The Dwarf _harrumphed_ deep in his throat. The contempt he felt for these people was now, impossible 'though that would have sounded only a day previous, increased threefold. Why, if this example of their might was true—and Gimli had no reasons to suspect otherwise—he and Legolas ought to be able to put an end to the entire problem without any help at all. He glanced over at the Elf again, wondering how close Legolas planned to let them get before he acted. What if there were archers on those walls? Not that the wooden catwalks ought to be up to supporting a large number of men, but all it would take was one good shot to turn their day into a very bad one. Still, the Elf was the archer amongst them—as well as the one with the clearest eyes. If Legolas was confident that they could approach closer to the wall, then Gimli was willing to do so…as long as the foolish Elf was not planning on getting within bow-rang just so he could pick the defenders from the wall! But, Gimli was confident, that had not been part of the plan.

Or had it…? Had the Elf said something in that song about archery? Gimli furrowed his brow and thought back. _Philin,_ wasn't it? That meant archery, or arrows, or something of the sort…had not Legolas spoken a similar word? The Dwarf shot a glance of such power at the Elf's back that Legolas turned, apparently sensing that this was more than merely a glower. Gimli scowled, wondering how many of Legolas's thoughts had flittered away in the moonlight. Was the Elf indeed contemplating such a scheme?

Their eyes met a moment, then Legolas turned away. Gimli continued to walk, more confused now than he had been before trying to get an explanation. He cursed himself for not taking the time to learn more of Sindarin, although at the time he had thought it a useless—not to mention fruitless—enterprise. He was not about to teach Legolas the secret language of the Dwarves (he was already in enough trouble with his clansmen due to his friendship with the Elf!), and saw no reason why he needed to learn any form of Elvish. What _was _that hair-brained, pointy-eared, misbegotten creature planning?

Settling down more firmly into his sulk, Gimli sent a fearsome frown at all of their captors, then one at the city itself. The city did not seem to care. In fact, neither did the men, although Gimli was willing to bet that he could summon a stare almost as unnerving as an Elf, given the proper motivation. Right now, though, he did not have the time, for Ostad drew nearer with every trudging step. He glanced at Legolas again, and saw the Elf turned slightly on the demon-creature's back, looking into the distance. It was only for a moment, as if he feared one of the men might catch his gaze straying. When he looked back he met Gimli's gaze and smiled slightly. The Dwarf's eyebrows went up in surprise. _What in all the caverns of Moria is he thinking?_ Gimli looked around wildly, but saw nothing. _Surely he is not counting on someone coming to rescue us?_

Gimli's thoughts were cut off abruptly when a distant yell met their ears. He looked back towards the city and saw a small figure on the walls waving at them. The man who led their captors yelled back. Both yells had been wordless, but apparently the timbre of their voices—or perhaps merely the fact that the man had responded—seemed to be enough to satisfy the distant guard, for the men above the gate relaxed, recognizing the incoming company as friends—or at least, recognizing the part of the company that was not bound and tied. Disgruntled, the Dwarf tugged half-heartedly at the roped around his wrists. He had done so numerous times with varying degrees of effort when he had first been tied, but to no avail. When the ropes suddenly shifted, however, loosening around his wrists, he almost gasped audibly in surprise. Hurriedly peering at his guard, Gimli was relieved to see that the man was paying him no attention. Apparently this close to home, they were no longer worried about their prisoners escaping. Gimli grinned, for the first time since this ordeal had begun. _We shall soon teach them that caution is ever necessary_, the Dwarf thought with an eager glint lighting his eyes. _Whether they will be in any shape to appreciate the lesson is debatable…but we shall teach it nonetheless._

…………

Aragorn was sure that he felt Elven eyes on his back as they rode. Elladan, he knew, was not happy that they were riding in daylight this close to the city. They were already within range of the Elf's vision, and he did not agree with Aragorn's choice to press them onwards despite the risk, and the man was certain that was the reason he was staring at him so unnervingly. Aragorn kept twitching in his saddle, trying to shake the pointed gaze. Once he realized what he was doing, he tried to stop it, but inevitably his concentration would wander back to the ground or the grass or the path or something else and he would forget and twitch again. He could perfectly picture Elladan laughing at him silently, but every time he glanced back the Elf would be scanning the distance serenely. Aragorn had spent a very long time around Elves, and much of that time around Elladan in particular. He was not in the least bit fooled by the act.

Aragorn sighed. He must be very distracted to be thinking like that. With an effort, he attempted to reorganize his wayward thoughts. It was difficult, but the King of Gondor had been trained to have an ordered mind, and had cultivated discipline over decades. He was just finishing his mental exercises when he felt more than saw Elladan stiffen in his saddle. Aragorn turned, a question on his lips.

Before he could voice it, Elladan was already answering him. "It is the party that I noticed earlier. We are close enough now"—there was the faintest trace of reprimand in his tone—"that I am able to discern some few details of their make-up. There seem to be five men, all walking. Also there are the two horses, the riders of which I believe have golden hair." Elladan's voice tightened as he continued, "and the one upon the second horse is an Elf."

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked sharply.

"I would not doubt it," Elladan replied quietly. "Know you another Elf that travels in the company of a Dwarf?"

"Gimli is there as well?"

Elladan shrugged, as if to say, why bother questioning? "Between the two horses walks a short figure, too stout to be a child yet of that height. Would you name him otherwise?"

Aragorn did not reply, but he signaled for the company to stop. Elladan urged his horse next to the king's. "What think you?" he asked his foster-brother neutrally.

Elladan's eyes were stormy as he spoke. "Given their company, and the fact that the Dwarf walks rather than rides with Legolas, I would say it is a certitude that they are captives. How five men managed to take them thus, I know not, but perhaps they were more than five when at first they met. I know not why they seem to cooperate with their guards, but I would fain suspect trickery of a sorts similar to the missive it is claimed Prince Faramir sent his wife."

Aragorn nodded. "They make no escape attempt?" The Ranger strained his eyes, but he could not even make out the dot where Elladan assured them the city lay in the distance, and Aragorn's eyes were keen for one of the Edain.

Elladan shook his head. "None that I can see, Estel. But they are little more than specks at this distance, and draw away from us every moment. I believe I would see the chaos such an act would entail, but I do not see how one could be successful. They are like to be soon within range of the archers Ostad no doubt posts upon their outer wall. Any action would be too risky to take when already surrounded and under bow-shot. I do not see how they shall escape this, and I believe that they do not either."

"Think you that Legolas has seen us?" Aragorn asked, searching for hope.

Elladan shrugged again. "I cannot say. His eyes are sharper than mine, so it is quite possible he noted us 'ere this; from the distance we now sit, I have little doubt that, were he to turn, he would be able to recognize us with slight effort. Whether he has turned to see, though, I cannot say; we are too far for my eyes to be that sure of small motion." Elladan looked over at the man brooding beside him. "There is no way for us to prevent them entering the city, Aragorn."

He cursed quietly, but nodded; Elladan was all too right. He spoke now to the two Rangers travelling with them as well as the Elf. "We will wait for cover of darkness. Then we shall slip in, hopefully unnoticed, and find where they have put our friends. As soon as twilight falls, Elladan, sneak close enough to find us the weak point in their wall. We will scale it there and disappear into the city. The horses, I am afraid, we must part from here; we have no way to sneak them into the city. If we cannot find replacements, the journey home will be on foot." The men nodded; they would not complain. They had walked many farther distances in their lives with no word of protest. "We will hide ourselves within that depression until nightfall." Aragorn indicated a slight dip in the plains. With their woodlore, it was unlikely they would be spotted by anything other than a deliberate and careful search.

He looked closely at his three companions and his voice dropped to a darker tone, faintly edged in prescience. "I suggest you take what rest you can. It is sure to be a long night."

…………

Éowyn's senses were singing with anticipation as Windfolla was slowly led through the city gate. She was trying very hard not to turn around and stare at Legolas and Gimli, but she wished that she could see them and whatever silent signals they were passing back and forth. Then again, it was unlikely that she would be able to understand the subtle shifts of expression that they seemed to use as freely and specifically as verbal communication. Their time spent in close company, often under stressful situations, had enabled them to create a silent language that no one else could understand.

She tugged at the ropes on her wrists, wishing that she could reach her sword. Beneath her, Windfolla shifted, sensing her mistress's tension. She willed her body to relax, and the horse calmed down. She heard a faint shifting behind her that she guessed was Gimli turning to glare—again—at his friend. Although every instinct she had screamed at her to move, jump, run, attack, do _something _before she was inside the gate, she resisted. Legolas had a plan, and she had only her aversion to being trapped. She would wait for the Elf to act.

Even it drove her crazy doing so.

They had passed into the city; Éowyn could not resist twisting around. Gimli was glowering about him darkly, neither happy at being stuck in a hostile city nor with the shabbily constructed hovels. Legolas, on the other hand, seemed supremely unconcerned with the situation. His head was bent and he was completely relaxed—it was almost as if he were napping on the horse's back. Éowyn turned back around, frustrated and anxious. So she did not see the Elf suddenly move as they passed around a corner.

As soon as the rough buildings blocked the view of the guards at the gate, Legolas launched himself from his horse. A high kick as he came down sent one guard spinning, fighting to keep conscious. Éowyn turned around as she heard the impact of the man slam into the dusty street, but by then the Elf had already landed, twisted the ropes off his hands, spun into the other guard by Holdwyn and somehow sent him stumbling away with a bloodied nose, and now twisted a foot around the ankle of one of Gimli's guards, yanking him to the ground. Gimli had already started moving, although he was not quite as fast as the graceful blur that was the Prince of Eryn Lasgallen. Leaping upwards, the Dwarf managed to fling his bound hands around the neck of his other guard, using his weight to drag downwards on the man's throat. He struggled, but the Dwarf was a bur that was impossible to dislodge.

Before the man holding Windfolla's reins could react, Éowyn had yanked them from his startled grasp. Her horse reared on cue, striking out at the two men in front of her with the heavy hooves of a Rohirrim war-horse. Éowyn turned to see the leader of their captors swinging a sword at her head. She ducked, but knew that she would not be able to fully avoid the blow in time. Suddenly, the swing reversed its direction, and the sword fell to the ground. The men fell backwards, an Elvish arrow embedded in his throat. Éowyn's eyes were wide when she turned to see Legolas, already moving. The Elf used the momentum of his throw and continued it in a sharp blow to the side of the head of the man he had tripped earlier, who was just now getting to his feet.

Éowyn twisted Windfolla in the narrow street. She brought her tied-together hands across the jaw of the man who had been holding her reins—the same one who had struck her in the ambush. Éowyn was a shield-maiden of Rohan; she had chosen the creation of life over the destruction thereof in the white walkways of Minas Tirith, but she was still who she was. Éowyn hit much harder than he had. The man went down without so much as a groan. But by the time she had slipped off her horse and grasped the leader's dropped sword, the battle might as well have been over.

Legolas moved with fluidity and grace impossible in mortals. Somehow there was a short sword in his hand, captured during the fight. It sparkled with red from the throat of the guard with the bloody nose whose face was now a crimson sheen that matched the wet patch spreading down his chest. The Elf spun, and the knife vanished from his hand to reappear in the chest of the guard against the wall, just beginning to recover from the kick to the head he had taken. The man gaped and died silently. Gimli _harrumphed_ and released the last one with a soft _thump_. The Dwarf did not look happy, likely because he had not been given the chance for his axe to meet with any skulls.

The entire fight had been settled in a matter of seconds, and had made less noise than a heavily loaded cart would rolling down one of the cramped streets. Gimli rounded on the Elf, flames in his eyes, but Legolas put a thin finger to his lips in a signal for silence. He crouched next to a fallen corpse and removed some of the heavy packs it had borne. The first thing to come out was a thin white knife which he used to cut the bonds on his friends' hands. Éowyn had the feeling that the Elf and Dwarf had held a hurried, silent conference, but whatever had been the subject she had no way of knowing.

Gimli grumbled darkly, but began retrieving his axes from another of the bodies. Éowyn belted her sword around her waist again, then froze. Legolas, tears on his cheeks, was standing over the unconscious man that she had felled. He whispered something in Sindarin and raised a dagger he had taken from the man's robes. Gimli's hand on his arm stopped him. The Dwarf silently held out a hand. Legolas shook his head and gestured; even Éowyn could see what he meant this time. The man had to be dispatched, or their escape would be short-lived. Gimli nodded impatiently; he was no fool. Still he held out his hand imperiously. The Elf started to object, but Gimli cut him off.

"Legolas," he said quietly. The tone of the Dwarf's voice carried a weight of things. Apparently, it carried enough weight with his friend that Legolas sighed and gave in. He handed the knife to Gimli, who calmly finished the man.

Legolas put a hand on the Dwarf's shoulder. "_Hannon-le_," he whispered. Gimli nodded brusquely, then shook the Elf off.

"Let's go," he growled. Legolas nodded, and went to speak to the horses. Gimli started dragging one of the bodies towards a small empty space between two ill-built buildings. Éowyn moved to take another of the corpses, but the Dwarf sent her such a bristling glare that she stopped. Apparently, she was not allowed to do any heavy lifting, she realized, amused. Gimli was feeling very paternal today.

Legolas turned from the horses, who shifted anxiously. Éowyn moved to soothe Windfolla, but the Elf caught her arm gently. She looked at him, puzzled, and he shook his head. "Hurry," he whispered so quietly she had to strain to hear him. Gimli deposited the last body—none too gently—into the shadowy alcove. Legolas brushed the dusty road with soft boots, and the bloody evidence of death vanished in the dirt. Gimli took a powerful breath and blew more of the pale dust over the bodies, giving them just enough of a coating that they blended with the shadows. Éowyn paused, looking at them, and wondered if their silent communications were responsible for the quick, efficient way they handled their individual tasks. Or could it be that they had done similar things before, perhaps even often enough to be accustomed to it?

She was left no time for pondering, for Legolas was at her side again, urging them both forwards. The Rohirrim woman looked back over her shoulder once, and saw the horses standing calmly. She tried to ask Legolas why he was leaving them behind, but he shook his head again and pressed onwards. They had already turned a few corners when she heard a distant commotion. It sounded as if the horses had broken through the gate and galloped away wildly. Worried, Éowyn strained her ears, but could make out no specifics. Legolas evidently noticed her distress, for he softly breathed words of reassurance in her ear:

"Both made it unscathed. I have instructed them to run for home; they should encounter no dangers on the path back to Emyn Arnen. The spies of Ostad have no use for riderless horses, my lady."

Éowyn nodded, slightly reassured. The Elf would not have sent the horses to their deaths. Still, she wished that he would share with them his plans, for it was obvious that they were still in motion. He led them through the shabby, twisting streets, occasionally darting ahead to glance around the corner, or simply stopping them a moment to listen. They flitted through the city like silent wraiths, unseen—or at least, unhindered. Although she could hear the sounds of life, often from as close as on the other side of a thin wall, Éowyn had yet to see a single person. Perhaps that was simply Legolas being careful, or perhaps the citizens of Ostad did not walk the dusty streets. She did not know, and neither Elf nor Dwarf was going to risk the sounds of discussion at this point. Later…

Although where they would be later, Éowyn did not know, for they were assuredly not heading towards an exit. It seemed more to her that they were heading steadily inward, towards the black heart of this shadowy city…

* * *

_Now, before anyone says anything, I would just like to mention that this is _not _a cliff-hanger. Maybe a standing-on-the-edge-and-looking-down bit, but not actually dangling from fingertips and snapping roots yet. Don't worry, we'll get to _cliff-hangers! _Mwuahahaha…_

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Susan W – **Nope, no subliminals here! Tee hee, try not; do, or do not. There is no try. ;) Actually, about the foreshadowing with Arwen? I honestly don't know if it was meant to be. I think sometimes that I'm such a fan or foreshadowing that I just sort of write it in instinctively without noticing. Or it could have just been—of all things—subliminals, I suppose, as "red sky" quotes are ones I'm quite fond of…and I do sail… And SORRY about the lack of update-goodness last week! And next week. :(

**ForeverFaramir –** Ha! Nope, not telling! And I'll sic my mini-Balrog on your killer butterflies. I even have nutella here for him to dip them in when he's done with the flash-frying! Far more frightening and hazardous to my life was your review; I _definitely _ended up almost doing a spit-take with my tea; smart ass, me? Hee! Well, miss smarty-pants, he _didn't _have a knife up his sleeve, it was an _arrow_, so there! But yeah, you almost killed me. Must be some kind of subconscious revenge for the lack of info on poor little Faramir, I suppose…

**Avalon – **Yay, typo-spotter reciprocation! lol And I figure to keep up with each other, Legolas and Gimli have to be pretty clever. Otherwise they would have gotten each other killed before Aragorn's wedding. Er, I mean, "but of course, they are both utter geniuses." Put the arrow and axe down, boys, or I'll do something horrible. I'm the Mistress of All Evil, do you two _really _want to tempt me? That's it, drop the sharp objects and back away slowly… Ahem, sorry, character control, I'm back now. Ooh, ooh, look! Behind the tree! Hurry Avie, he's bolting, get him…! Blast. Stupid jumping Elves… Well, better luck next time…

**Quiet Infinity – **Ooh, nice line. Mind if I use that? It may well pop up sometime in conversation… Yep, dragging 'em along by their pointy little ears! Yeah, I always thought they sailed too. I never really even thought about them staying, actually—why would they? They're Elves, and they don't end up falling to Luthien's Doom, so…? But that's just me; I frankly can't even wrap my mind around Arwen and Luthien's reasoning…_shrug_. Did you know that Tolkien and his wife have "Beren" and "Luthien" inscribed on their graves? I just think that's so neat…

**Laiquendi – **Tricksy Elf indeed and hey! Gimmee that nutella! Aw, c'mon, take pity on a poor college freshman and give me the sweet chocolatey/nutty goodness…I promise to read it as soon as I get back, really I do...I'm so far behind on reading…and Ouch! That had to hurt. Laiquendi, when Avie's hunting Elves, remember to wear orange when going into the dark forest…arrows can be painful to pull out…ask Aragorn soon! Hee, evil hint dropping, thy name is Rhys!

**Slayer3 – **Ooh, ooh, happy snow dance! Yay! Ooh, ooh, and I get to go home and _they have snow there! _I'll do the happy snow dance again with you! Woo hoo:D

**East Coastie – **Well, if I were a smart ass, I would say he had an arrow…_smirk! _Aaaaaaaaas for Faramir…heh heh heh heh heh…heh heh. Heh.

**Jebb – **Up the volume, crescendo! Brinkelfship indeed; and poor Gimli _still _hasn't gotten to use his axe. Legolas better be extra careful around the skull-loping-deprived Dwarf for a bit, methinks. As for talking sense…well, I respect Éowyn most highly and all but…talking sense? Into Legolas? Is that _possible? _Especially when Gimli's around to egg him on! I mean—sense? Does that word even exist when we get our Elf and Dwarf together?

**flowerbee1 – **Yay, eeeeeeeeeevil me:D Well, he has a plan…maybe not a _good_ one, but a plan nonetheless. Yes, getting into heads is good. But _remember Gimli dear _it's _better _when you don't have to break them open with an axe to do so! That's it, put it down…good Dwarf… Yeah, they're a little upset at me for abandoning them to finals…and they're armed…not a good combo. ;) On the Elvish note, I'd prefer to use and to designate speaking in a different language (like they do in comic books) but that can get confusing when I try and html code the story for another site I post on, so I'm afraid italics will have to stay. I'll just promise that there's not going to be any telepathy in the story so you don't have to worry about differentiating. Sorry to confuse!

**Aranna – **Sorry, Aranna, no king-sick-visits for you. Cunning, yes precious, cunning and sly…and evil. ;) Hope you're feeling better! Maybe I should have sent Aragorn and his Healing Hands over…

**Templa Otmena – **So…you review "because it's there" then? Heh. Hmm, I might need to invest in a Super Tension-O-Meter…can't have implosions. Very messy. Although better than _ex_plosions, I suppose… DOOM! DOOM for all! Yay! Ooh, and more to read…bugger it all and thank you very much! I love getting recommendations…even when I don't really have time…heh heh. And mayhem, mayhem for ALL! And doom, of course. Mayhem and doom.

_Sorry folks, no time to post for _Shadows Creeping _before I have to catch my flight. :( Don't be mad? I will as soon as I get back! Promise! And _Ostad_, too! Enjoy St. Paddy's Day and the Beginning of Spring (March 20th) and I'll see you all in two weeks. Terribly _terribly _sorry about falling through on updates last week. I'll try not to let that happen again. Anyway, time to go now. Off to the airport!_


	8. Patience is a Virtue

I'm finally back! Much rejoicing! Details will follow the story, but I won't get in the way of that anymore now. So, ewok dance of joy for all, and enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eight

Elladan leaped to his feet suddenly, staring at the city in shock. Behind him, he heard Aragorn doing likewise, but the Elf ignored the king, squinting into the distance. His face was slack with surprise and confusion. Someone shaking his shoulder finally roused him, and he glanced at Aragorn.

"What is it?" the man asked anxiously. Elladan turned back to the distance before he answered.

"Horses. Riderless." His voice was as blank as his face as he told what he saw. "They speed from the city, and there is commotion on the walls above. Beyond that, I cannot tell; all is far and the sunlight catches on the grass."

Aragorn drew in a breath with a hiss. "Can you see nothing more?"

Elladan shook his head, frustrated. Even the farsight of Elves has limits, and though his eyes were clear and could see for great distances, he could not see everything. The sharpest-eyed hawk would envy the Elf his vision, but it was not infinite. Usually he could see better than he needed, but now the distance and the sun defeated him. Elladan tried to center himself and let go his frustration, knowing that his temper all too often got in the way of things—as his father had told him many, many times. Elladan had lived many lives of Men, but he was not old in the way of the Eldar, and occasionally acted out of anger rather than thought.

_Even if I could see the horses clearly I would know little more_, he told himself. He could not see through walls, even those as thin as the wood that surrounded Ostad. All he knew was that the horses were galloping fast and bore no one on their backs. Where those riders had gone, he could not tell. If he were patient a moment, though, he would know the answer to the question clamoring loudest in his mind—and, he was sure, in Aragorn's as well. The horses were running more or less in their direction, and when they got close enough he would be able to tell—

There was no blood on their backs. While that did not mean that their riders were unharmed, it at least showed that they had not been dragged bleeding from their mounts. It was something. It was not enough, but it was something.

Elladan looked at the Man he called brother. They did not need to speak aloud. Aragorn nodded, and Elladan turned to the horses. He waited for them to come close enough that he could call for them. Then he noticed that they were not running together. The saddled mount, golden sun glimmering on its white flanks, had turned to the West, while the barebacked one rode Eastwards. He looked at Aragorn again, but the man was as confused as he was. Why would they not have gone together? Horses were herd animals, and there should have been no reason for them to separate. Aragorn sighed and shook his head. Elladan shrugged and turned back to the steed riding towards them; he agreed that it would be too risky to go after the other horse.

A soft Elvish voice seemed to whisper through the air, and Holdwyn paused. He slowed a bit and turned his gallop towards the call. Elladan murmured soothing words as he caught the horse's nose in his hands and led the animal with his voice rather than the rough halter around its nose towards the lee in the ground where the other four horses were concealed. Aragorn took over in settling the feisty creature, and Elladan turned his gaze once more towards the city. He could feel Aragorn's attention on him even as the king spoke softly to the horse.

Elladan shook his head in silence; strain though he would, he could not see what was happening within the distant city.

…………

The city walls felt like they were closing in on him. It was not that Legolas was claustrophobic—he had spent far too much of his life within the darker, denser parts of Mirkwood before it had been cleansed for that—but there were certain enclosed spaces that got to him. Caves, for one, as Gimli was never slow to point out. Elves had a natural aversion to being cut off from the sky and stars, and the dead interiors of the earth were not their favorite places to spend time. Occasionally even the winding paths of Minas Tirith would start to choke him, but there were enough patches of green in the city to soothe him, and he was never prevented from seeking the sky.

Here, although the buildings were much shorter than those of the White City, Legolas still felt hemmed in, a feeling he usually associated with caves. The ramshackle buildings were tightly spaced and looked as if they might come tumbling down at any moment. The thin ribbon of sky over his head looked sickly from the dust that floated through the small streets.

He knew that he was pushing Gimli's and Éowyn's patience to its limits dragging them along without a word of explanation, but he could not risk it. It was not that he thought anyone would overhear his soft whisper, but he knew that there would be a discussion of his plans afterwards—and that would not be so quiet. He could already hear Gimli's bellow of incredulity, and he had a feeling that Éowyn would have a few choice words to say as well. There was not time for a long debate in any case, even if it were possible to keep the volume of it low enough to escape detection by the populace.

He suddenly stopped and ducked back around the corner of a rough wooden wall. He motioned for the other two to come closer but stay silent. Questions flared in their eyes, but he had to ignore them for now. He leaned in close and whispered just loudly enough for their less acute ears to understand him. "This is the point where it becomes difficult." Gimli's eyebrows shot up in an obvious query, but Legolas pretended not to see it. He knew he wasn't fooling the Dwarf, but they did not have time right now, and Gimli would get that message just as clearly.

Legolas peeked around the corner again. He dared not risk the life of the Lady Éowyn…but if he did not risk this now, they might as well have stayed with their captors. Shaking off his doubts, the Elf motioned them forward…

…………

The shabby buildings of wood and canvass were so close to the old wall that some of them used it as part of their construction, building three walls out from it rather than bothering to erect a fourth and make a path. Some had obviously started as tents that had eventually become permanent, with walls and additions spreading out from their humble beginnings—although everything was _still _humble in the outer ring of the city.

Ostad was an interesting combination of two distinct parts. There was the Old City, built mostly of stone and strong wood, erected long ago. Parts of it were run-down and crumbing, but for the most part it was reasonably well-maintained—at least when compared to the other half of the city. It had grown up around the rest of the city, starting as tents leaning against the strong wall. They were portable and rough, because there was no protection outside the wall from roving bandits or orcs. Eventually, though, the tent city had expanded, becoming so large that a wooden wall was built around it for protection. The tents had become rough buildings, but the New City had never been able to compete with its predecessor. As soon as anyone could afford it, they moved into Old City, often leaving their old homes without a backward glance. The abandoned buildings simply grew shabbier and dustier, sometimes gaining new owners, sometimes just sitting empty, although it was hard to tell which were inhabited and which were derelict, they were all so ragged and tattered.

This meant that it was also a hopeless maze, often even so for those that inhabited it, for buildings were ever changing—tents would suddenly appear, or a wall would be knocked out, or another would be put up, sometimes overnight. It also meant that with some skill and luck, an appropriately empty building could be found for hunted strangers to hide out in.

"Here," Legolas whispered quietly, moving a ragged curtain aside. "I hear no sounds nearby; this building is empty."

Gimli eyed the ramshackle walls with a distrustful eye. Legolas could tell that the Dwarf was restraining himself—barely—from saying something disparaging. Such as, 'this flimsy structure of ill-building men looks ready to tumble down at the slightest breath.' But the Elf fixed a harsh glare on his friend, and with a sigh, Gimli moved inside, axe held at the ready. He needn't have worried, though, for the room was truly empty. It was not that he did not trust his friend; he had just been in too many dangerous spots to discard his instincts about entering a strange room with his weapon at the ready. He knew Legolas was not insulted, just as he knew that despite his confidence in the desertion of the building, the Elf would at least have a hand on his white knife, if not actually have his bow out and an arrow notched.

Éowyn followed him in, with the Elf scanning the street one last time with his piercing gaze before letting the curtain fall shut behind them. The two friends inspected the room carefully, moving in concert to all the corners and edges, always keeping their eyes on each other's backs as well. They had done this so many times it was an old habit, and Éowyn stood still by the door, ready to help with her sword out should they encounter trouble, but out of their way. At last satisfied that this room, at least, was safe, Legolas beckoned the woman away from the ragged curtain.

"Wait here, _mellyn nin_," he whispered to them, and moved to go.

Gimli caught his arm, looking at the Elf in confusion. Had he just said "mell_y_n?" Gimli did not speak Sindarin, but he knew a few words, and he certainly knew how to say friend—and _friends_. The Dwarf gave the Elf a quizzical look, wondering what crazy thoughts were going through his mind now. The Elf-prince knew better than to explore the strange building alone! They always worked them in cautious pairs.

But Legolas's eyes darted to Éowyn, who was grimly studying the rough room, and Gimli suddenly understood. The Elf did not want the woman left alone, but he also did not want her to accompany him while he searched for unheard occupants. Gimli's eyebrows raised in a question, and Legolas smiled wryly. He would be a good Elf, and be sure to cry out or come for aid if he found anyone. And besides, he was certain he would have heard them—this visual check was just for safety's sake.

Gimli frowned, but shrugged and released his friend's arm. He had a point. He scowled then, his gaze fastening fiercely on the smooth face in front of him. Legolas had _better _not do anything _stupid_, or Gimli would have a lovely Elf-hide with which to make a new belt. Legolas laughed silently, and nodded. He would not; he had given his word. Sighing, the Dwarf shook his head and waved his friend away. The Elf bowed slightly, and then was silently gone up the flimsy, untrustworthy-looking stairs at the back of the small room.

Gimli stationed himself, feet planted and axe held tightly in his gloved hands, at the foot of the stairs. He heard Éowyn come to stand beside him. He was going to tell her she might as well sit down, then thought better of it. The woman would never listen to him; there was no point in receiving one of her fierce glares by offering the suggestion when it would not be taken. Adjusting his grasp on the axe, Gimli settled down to wait for his friend's return—and woe befall that flighty Elf if he got himself into any trouble.

…………

Although Aragorn had commanded Mallor and Rhíbron, the two Dúnedain Rangers who rode with him, to spend the remainder of the day in what sleep they could find, he did not take his own counsel. At first he had thought to do so, lying down next to the two slumbering forms, but after a short time spent tossing and turning hopelessly, he had given up and wordlessly joined Elladan in his silent vigil of the city, despite the fact that it lay beyond his sight.

Dusk's shadows had only just begun to coat the plains when even the patience of the Elf-raised King Elessar reached its end. Filled with worry for his friends, he could tarry no longer. Rising swiftly, wincing at the kinks in his knees, he had found the two Rangers awake as well. In moments the Men were prepared, but Elladan had not moved. Knowing what was coming, Aragorn sighed and turned to the Elf. He waited for Elladan to speak; it did not take long.

"Night has not yet come," the Elf pointed out calmly. "A sharp-eyed watcher will spot us easily."

"Elladan—" Aragorn began, but the son of Elrond had not yet finished.

"They are none of them defenseless," he pointed out, then smiled slightly. _Here it comes…_Aragorn thought as the Elf continued. "Tell me, Estel, would it not be better to wait a few moments more and enter the city undetected than risk everything coming to naught through rash action?"

Aragorn sighed. There it was, the "Estel" comment. Whenever Elladan—and for that matter, his brother as well, although to a lesser degree—thought that the man wasn't thinking things through, they reminded him more-or-less subtly that they had known him since he was an infant and that he was, to them, still quite a youngling. He should trust their greater wisdom and experience. He glared at Elladan, who fought down a smile. He was wearing a very familiar "innocent" expression that Aragorn had seen many times before—usually in front of Elrond.

However, Aragorn also knew that Elladan was right. That was another reason he had wished for him to come along. He knew that he could always trust the Elf to make sure he did not act rashly, as he occasionally found himself wishing to, now that he was king. Aragorn took his responsibilities seriously, but ruling Gondor was very different from being the Chieftain of the Dúnedain. He was still getting used to it, and found that he chaffed a little at the restrictions it carried with it, and he had to be careful that he did not swing the opposite direction in rebellion. Arwen and her brothers had been invaluable in helping him to adjust to it by keeping his bouts of impatience in check with their calm Elven sensibilities.

Sighing, Aragorn offered his friend a wry smile, which the Elf accepted with a light chuckle. Nodding to the Rangers behind him, he sat back down, ready now to wait a little longer, however little he liked doing so when people he cared for were in jeopardy.

* * *

**I just want to thank however many of you hung around through that awful hiatus and apologize for it ever occurring. I would also like to throw in a Han Solo Clause and say "it's not my fault!"**

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Deana –** Why thank you my dear! Now, as long as someone gives Gimli some heads to bash soon, all will be right with the world. ;)

**Laiquendi –** Dun dun DUN! Heh. My favorite serious of musical notes. ;) So glad the fight worked for you, especially the aftermath. And dark and sinister _oh _yes. Bwahahaha! _But_—I've updated! So you can just go fetch that nutella and drag it back out of Mount Doom right now! What sort of Poet and Scholar can sacrifice _nutella? _tsk!

**Lil Pippin Padfoot –** I did? No way! I'll go correct that right now, I'm so very sorry. I don't know how I did that! Um…however, about Faramir? Er…sorry, no can do… Don't kill me! If you kill me, I can _never _bring him back, and that would be a _real _tragedy now wouldn't it? Yep! See? Exactly!

**flowerbee1 –** Cue Dun dun DUN and evil laughter! Sorry it was so very, very much more than a week. :(

**Susan W –** You're welcome:) Now, you summon an awfully evil little cruel smile to your face first of all. Then you have to make your eyes gleam sinisterly. Sometimes it can help if you rub your hands together. Then you have your pick of the sneering "mwahahaha" the dark "bwahahaha" the cackling "nyah ha ha" or just a good chuckling "heh heh heh" style of laughter. There are other variations, of course, but those are the most common. Always good to start with the basics. Nope, no Faramir. And looks like nothing for Gimli this chapter, either. Man, I'm 0-for-2 this time, aren't I? Maybe next update! I'm really glad the fight and especially the aftermath worked for everyone though. Thanks for letting me know! However, as for cliffies…mwahahahahaha! Now now, that wasn't half bad for a beginning. Just keep practicing!

**Avalon –** Does Elrohir really get all the attention? Huh. I've never really noticed a split before, but that's probably just me. Strange. Oh well, glad I picked the right twin for this bit, I guess. Don't worry, Elrohir isn't gone from the story any more than Arwen is. But yes, we loves crafty Elveses we does, yes preciousss. Lots of crafty, crafty Elveses… I think it comes from hanging around too many Dwarves. They're a bad influence on innocent, sweet little Elves—axe _down, _Gimli! I promise you can whack something soon, okay? But hit me and next chapter I swear to Eru I'll have Legolas dangling you by your ankles! Yeah, walk away… And thank you, my dear typo-spotter. ;)

**Jebb –** Well, he's plenty grumpy now! And yes, there are these two little spots in the back of the Elf's tunic that are rather charred and smoky from Gimli's glower. Just don't suggest that again—Elladan and Gimli will take you up on it, and Legolas and Elrohir will kill you! Er, yes, problematical…that's a nice word for it. I was thinking pig-headed and stubbornly impossible, but that works…

**East Coastie –** Brilliant? Say that not again, of the pointy-eared princeling will never be able to fit his already swelled but empty head through the doorwa—GIMLI! Get _off _my computer right now! Sheesh. I'm beginning to agree with Legolas. _Dwarves…sigh! _Anyway, East Coastie, yes. If I can't give you sword swinging in _Shadows _I can at least give you a mini-brawl over in the dusty streets of Ostad! ;)

**ForeverFaramir –** Irish mutant butterflies? Shouldn't the Ninja Turtles be suing for copyright infringement right about now…? Up his sleeve—heh. That was good; and it _so _wasn't a knife. So yeah, I'll take more tea choking anytime! However…no Faramir. Sorry! And I only accept notes from his Lordship Elrond _peredhel_—and I have his kids with me and they'll spot any forgeries. So there!

**Slayer3 –** Happy snow dance for all! Yessss! I got to see snow, I'm happy! And now I'm in short sleeves and too hot…go figure…

**Aranna –** Indeed and indeed and indeed to all three, yes; you're right and so is Eowyn. Yay! That scene _worked_, everybody liked it! Happy ewok dance! And help is, at least, sitting and watching. Does that count? Ouch, sick before midterms? Very icky indeed. And I'm very sorry to hear that; after midterms, a break just seems that it should be mandatory. Surely it's _necessary_, we can all agree on that one! Thanks again.

_All right, the story, for those of you that don't know, is as follows: I went home over spring break, took the laptop to work on things on the plane. I didn't actually open it up on the way there because I coincidentally happened to be sitting next to a friend from SCAD also flying my way. When I got home, I turned it on to show my brother something…and nothing happened. Well, that's not quite true. Actually, what happened was the driver whirred and lights blinked—and the screen stayed black. Somehow my LCD light blew. So, since I'd also killed Internet Explorer last semester, we decided to reload the computer and see if that would work. We hooked it up to another monitor and dragged the files onto my dad's office network so I didn't lose anything (well, not much and nothing of real import) and reloaded it. Internet Explorer now works, but the screen still didn't. So, we shipped the computer (luckily still warrenteed) back to Dell. However, by then my break was almost over, and they wouldn't send it to a different address than the one they picked it up from. Yeah, lovely. So when the finished, they sent it home. Then it had to be re-mailed to me here in Savannah. It finally showed up and I've been sorting through my files and getting everything back in order for the past couple weeks as well as trying to keep up with my new classes. Finally I got everything sorted and, voila, here we are with an update._ Shadows Creeping_ was just updated, too. But anyway, yes, deepest apologies for the long hiatus and I want to thank everyone who hung around. It's very much appreciated and you all rock quite a lot. Once more, deepest apologies and I hope to be back with more of this soon._


	9. Of Dwarf Baiting and Choking on Dust

Again, many thanks to every one of you. Many hugs and much love!

* * *

Chapter Nine

At last, Legolas came lightly back down the steps. "Come," he said softly, "it is deserted, and I would have us above the streets, should someone chance to enter."

The others followed him silently, although Gimli winced with every step on the rickety stairs, breathing lightly as if fearing he would bring the entire structure tumbling down. Éowyn's step, too, was cautious, although Legolas ran as confidently up them as if they were made of good, strong stone. But then, he was an Elf, and even snow did not crumble under his feet.

When they at last stepped off the stairs with a sigh of relief, they found that the upper floor of the shabby building they were in much resembled the first. Dirt and dust coated the place freely, and the boards were obviously never designed to go together. They fit poorly and their grain ran in random directions about the room. The cloths hanging over the windows were ragged and much-patched, half-decayed with moth-bites and stains covering them. The meager room had been stripped of most of its furnishings—or perhaps it had few to begin with—for there was only one shabby chair in the corner and a chest with a broken latch. There was a pile of dusty cloth that looked as if it were once used as a bed or nest at the far side of the room. The door that led to the other, smaller upper room dangled on one broken hinge, and swung gently back and forth, scraping the floor. The side room resembled the larger one, save that the chair that sat in it was broken and the pile of bedding was instead one thin sheet. There was a fly-encrusted blob in the far corner, and it was impossible to tell if it was once a small biscuit or the leg of a bird. The dust on the floor was altogether undisturbed from the Elf's footfalls, and although the Dwarf and woman stirred it up, it was so thick that soon even their footsteps were mostly hidden by the coating of dirt.

Legolas looked embarrassed, as if ashamed at leading the lady Éowyn to such a place. He watched her anxiously, but she gave no sign of distaste at her poor surroundings—until she nudged the blankets with her booted foot and was rewarded by the sudden flutter of millions of tiny wings as an insect colony took flight. A shieldmaiden of Rohan, she let out no maidenly scream, but just grimaced solemnly and changed her mind about the suitability of the cloth for a seat.

She turned to the other two, a little chagrined, but they both studious ignored her. They also did their best to appear perfectly content to stand—indeed, the word "sit" seemed foreign to their minds—while they waited for the lady to use the chair. Éowyn rolled her eyes at them, but sat daintily in the chair—noting with some amusement that someone (otherwise known as Legolas) had gone to the trouble of wiping it free of what dirt he could in anticipation of its use. Fighting a smile, she looked up at her two friends, who were doing their best to look innocent of all machinations.

Now that she was seated, Gimli could safely take his own repose on the dusty floor without fear of her attempting to give him the chair. The dirt did not bother him; he had crawled through worse muck exploring caves. He would clean his corslet and armor later; they were still decorated with enough dried blood from the earlier battle that some dust would do no harm.

Legolas stood calmly, waiting for his friends to settle themselves. Éowyn could see that the Elf knew full-well their questions for him, and while he was not eager to go through the gauntlet of explanations, he would do as they wished.

But first, it appeared, he had yet another surprise for them. "I believe Aragorn will be in the city shortly after nightfall."

Éowyn and Gimli gaped at the Elf, mouths open in shock.

"King Aragorn?" the woman asked slowly.

"And Lord Elladan with him," Legolas replied calmly. "Or perhaps Lord Elrohir; it was quite a distance, and they look much alike, yet I would wager it was he I saw."

Gimli sputtered. "And you have said nothing of this, why?" he asked, incredulous.

Legolas looked back innocently. "They will not be here until nightfall," he said with a shrug. Did Éowyn imagine the mischievous twinkle in the Elf's eye? He could not _really _be deliberately baiting the Dwarf, could he?

"Ah, should we then thank you for informing us ere the sun set?" Gimli asked sarcastically. "Or did the thought simply flee from your flighty Elvish mind?" The Dwarf snorted. "There are no trees in this shabby, ill-built city, but I am sure that you could find plenty of things to distract your errant, so-called thoughts with." He scowled, but there seemed to be a smile tugging at his mouth—nay, she was imaging it.

Legolas's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Friend Gimli," he said innocuously, "what ever would you have done with the knowledge? For I know that Dwarves are not given to pondering, or even to thinking."

Gimli scowled darkly. "And yet we can keep our minds on one matter, while Elves are ever flitting from one thing to the next, accomplishing little."

Legolas shook his head mournfully. "It is a sad thing that Dwarves cannot think of more than one simple task at a time, but I assure you, Gimli, it does not mean that I think any less of you. I know that you cannot help what you are born."

The Dwarf glared and began angrily, "and I know that you cannot help being a brainless, ninny Elvish princeling, which is all that spares your head from my axe at your foolish words, for I know that Elves cannot understand things of true wisdom—"

Legolas looked surprised. "Dwarves know of wisdom? I have never heard of such a thing! Imagine! A Dwarf knowing that wisdom exists in the world!" He shook his head in wonderment. "But come," he said before Gimli could frame a coherent reply, "I expect that there are many things that you desire to know relating to our journey here, and what must follow. I am eager to talk at last."

Éowyn felt the same, although it eased her heart to know that no matter what situation they found themselves in, her friends' humor would never falter. It made it easier to smile behind her shield.

………

Secure in the knowledge that he and his companions were as silent as mortally possible—and one of them quite a bit more so—the gray-cloaked king sidled along the wall. The night was already thick and deep; as soon as blackness had fallen they had set off for the city's walls, but it had been a slow journey; attempting, as they were, to avoid all detection.

Elladan abruptly signaled for his three trails to stop. Aragorn's hand stole to the hilt of Andúril, but when the Elf turned and indicated the wall, the Ranger relaxed. It was not danger; they had merely arrived at their destination. The Elf pointed to a half-rotten board at the bottom of the rough wooden wall. How his eyes had spied it in the dark and from the distance at which he had searched for it, Aragorn would never know. He was merely thankful that the Elf was with him this night.

Communicating his intentions with hand-signals perfected over decades of working with the Dúnedain during the last Age, the Elf indicated that he would go over the wall to remove the boards from the inside, allowing the three men to squeeze through. Aragorn nodded, and Elladan launched himself into the air. He lightly caught the rough wooden boards and scrambled up them, graceful and noiseless in the weak moonlight. He glanced at the men a moment to indicate all was well, then vanished over the wall.

No noise showed that he had landed, but a moment later there was a slight scratching as the boards were pried up. One gone, laid carefully aside; Aragorn could faintly make out the Elf's hands working the next one through the gap in the wall. He looked around, wary of discovery at this tenuous stage where their small company was divided. Suddenly, there was a faint hiss from the other side of the wall, and Elladan vanished from sight.

Aragorn's hand curled tightly around Andúril's hilt, loosening the sword in its sheath. He felt more than heard Mallor and Rhìmbron copying his actions behind him. Unable to guess what was going on from the silence, Aragorn stared hard at the dark—empty—gap in the wall…

………

Elladan was listening carefully for any approaching sounds. He knew that his sharp ears would hear anyone long before they came within sight of him, but this part of the city, at least, was silent. Then he stiffened and looked up. A curse slipped from his lips, and he dove away from the wall, pulling his sword silently from his sheath as he rolled. Moving on soundless feet, the Elf flitted like a faint shadow invisible to mortal eyes in the thick darkness.

He paused, barely breathing, at the corner of an alley. His sharp ears listened closely as he tracked his quarry without sight. The man's footfalls were loud to the Elf, and he restrained himself patiently to wait for him to draw near. As the guard turned the corner, he brushed so close that Elladan could have reached out and touched him. Secure in the knowledge that the city was safe and his patrol pointless for anything larger than a stray child, he did not even look up as he passed the Elf, but walked in distant complacency.

Then he looked at the wall. Elladan tensed, and the guard did likewise. He had seen the gap in the wall. Curious, he walked towards it. The Elf moved silently behind him, swiftly clamping a hand over the man's mouth before he knew he was in danger, and moved his sword. The man jerked sharply in Elladan's grasp. The Elf dropped the body to the ground and wiped the blood from his blade. Eyeing the body with distaste, he returned to his work, prying the boards up angrily.

Aragorn shot through as soon as the third one was gone, scraping his cloak—fortunately it was good Lórien weave, and did not catch on the splinter—and his right hand, which was not so fortunate, and soon had bleeding knuckles. He glanced around anxiously, hands on Andúril's hilt, looking for danger. His gaze caught the corpse where the Elf had left it, then met Elladan's. The Elf shrugged, not wanting to spend time explaining right now. Waving to the man to keep watch, he pulled out a fourth thin board to allow Mallor and Rhìmbron to crawl through without as much difficulty as their anxious king had suffered.

They quickly replaced the boards as Elladan carefully eyed the city. Now that they were in, the simple part of their plan was over. Dangerous it had been, and risky, yes, but simple in execution. _Sneak into the city without being seen_. That was all. But now, they had to somehow find Legolas, Éowyn, and Gimli, get at least the lady out and home safe, and then find and rescue Faramir and his men—all without being taken captive themselves. And, of course, they had absolutely no idea how they were going to find any of them—especially with how carefully Legolas and Gimli were bound to have Éowyn hidden away.

The fact that not a single one of them knew this maze of a city would not be helpful. Elladan was not used to feeling out of his depth, but he suddenly had a feeling that was vaguely similar to that. He sighed, and turned to look at Aragorn. The man seemed to be thinking along much the same lines, and his face was grim. Summoning up a smile, Elladan clasped his foster-brother's shoulder.

"Come, Estel," he said with as much good humor as he could manage, "we ought to hide ourselves away for the night. Assuredly we will have better luck seeking for our friends in the morning."

Aragorn brightened considerably. "You are right, _mellon nin_. Thank you." He turned to the Rangers to organize their silent journey, but Elladan was not listening. He was glad that he had raised Aragorn's confidence, but what of his own? The Elf shook his head; he would think on it in the morning. There was no good in dwelling on dark thoughts in the depth of night. Things would look fairer with the rising of the sun.

………

Gimli groaned and tried to burrow further into his bedroll. Something was lightly shaking his arm, and he had no desire to wake and see what it was. Something about that thought struck the veteran warrior as odd, and his half-sleeping mind slowly turned to puzzle it out. Why should not wishing to wake when he was tired be strange to him? Ah yes, the Dwarf remembered slowly, they were in a dangerous situation again. But he was not worried, because it was Legolas that stood over him, not an enemy; even in his sleep-addled state the Dwarf could recognize his friend by his proximity. There was nothing strange in Legolas being awake (he sometimes thought that Elves were really nothing more than insomniacs in denial), but as Gimli detected no worry from his friend, he saw no reason why he could not continue sleeping.

A reason presented itself in a moment, however, as the Dwarf felt a light touch on his chest. Before he could react, the Elf had deftly twitched his blankets off. Gimli felt rather proud of himself as he sat up quickly; he had actually felt the edge of Legolas's soft boot with his fingertips as he had grabbed for his friend's ankle in retaliation. Someday, he would catch hold of the flighty princeling, and then they would see who was more unhappy about the morning ritual of waking the Dwarf from slumber.

Legolas muffled his tinkling laugh with a silken sleeve; he did not desire to wake Éowyn yet—only Gimli. While when danger threatened the Dwarf could rise from full slumber to instant battle-alertness, when there was no threat hanging over his head Gimli could take a very long time to rouse to suitable alertness. And, of course, it would never do for his friend to wake naturally when Legolas was there to shake him from his slumbers. He had almost waited too long; the Dwarf was already half-awake. Indeed, he was alert enough already that today was the closest Gimli had ever gotten to catching a hold of his nimble friend in the morning. Legolas grinned as the Dwarf heaved himself to his feet, carefully restraining his mutterings so as not to disturb the woman who slumbered peacefully nearby.

Turning aside innocently, Legolas smoothly rolled up the blankets in his hands and innocently handed them to Gimli. He ignored the glare the Dwarf sent his direction as he moved off to prepare a morning repast—which was, he was sure, doomed to be woefully inadequate in Gimli's mind. The Dwarf had spent far too much time around hobbits, Legolas decided somewhat wistfully. He missed the dear little creatures. Perhaps, if nothing dire looked like it was going to come up in the near future, he and Gimli could make at least a brief journey to the Shire. They had, after all, never been there, and the Elf was sure that there were now at least a few little hobbit-lads and lasses running around (a Gamgee or three, at the minimum) who would be delighted to meet two of the beings they would doubtless be told numerous—and exaggerated—tales of by their parents and uncles. Or fifth-cousins twice-removed. Or third-uncles on their mother's side. Or seventh something-else's on their fathers. However the little ones would end up being related to their sire's friends. Legolas had learned in his time with the Fellowship that every hobbit in the Shire was somehow related to all the others, usually in numerous ways.

Yes, it would be good to see the little hobbits again and learn how they were faring. Aragorn, while unable to leave Gondor for that length of time so early in his reign, would be delighted with all the news he and Gimli would bring back about their friends. It was now determined; they would journey to Eriador at the earliest possible opportunity. All that remained was to find such a time, and to tell Gimli—but unlike explorations of forests, Legolas thought that his Dwarven friend would require no persuasion or threats to convince him that a visit to Hobbiton was in order.

Now, though, they had other things to deal with. The Elf's sharp gaze flashed to the slumbering woman. Her rest had been fitful, although only mildly so, and Legolas was worried about her. He could find no sign of injury upon her person—the bruise on her face had all but faded completely—but his suspicions led him to be perhaps overly cautious. He knew not how to help the woman with her current situation, should it be what he guessed, and so he could do nothing but fret uselessly. Legolas did not like being either ignorant or helpless, and when he was both at the same time it sat ill with the prince.

He sighed and turned away. He would put it as far from his thoughts as he could, and do his best not to dwell on it. For now, he would simply see that she had a proper breakfast in her for the busy day this was bound to turn into. While the Elf regretted that he must interrupt the rest that had at last settled over her a few short hours ago, he knew it was necessary. Aragorn and Elladan must have entered the city sometime in the night, and they needed to figure out a way of getting in touch with them before they did something rash or foolish—somehow, wherever they were hiding…

Shaking his head grimly, the Elf summoned a welcoming expression on to his fair face and moved forward to gently stir the Lady Éowyn from her slumbers…

………

The four hooded figures were hardly noticeable in the ragged crowd that filled the streets of the outer city. With light had come chaos, and all manner of people had poured out of their rough homes to talk, trade, beguile, barter, shout, seduce, threaten, or otherwise fill the hours of the day spent scraping out a meager existence—or relieving others of their own scrapings.

The four travelers, in their plain cloaks and well-worn clothes, lightly stained with dirt and now a thin sheet of dust, were hardly spared more than a glance as they made their quiet way through the small and twisting streets. They paced themselves so as to not stand out, either: walking purposefully enough to not be idly stopped, yet taking care not to hurry conspicuously. Their low-pulled hoods were unsuspicious for the thick dust stirred up by many feet on unpaved roads led most to wrap their faces with scarves or pull hoods and hats down to shield their eyes.

They had been walking since dawn's faintest hint, and noon was now fading. All was going well—save that they had yet to find a clue of their companions—until Rhìmbron started coughing. The man had been unlucky enough to pass a doorway as a wrinkled woman roughly shook the ragged "door" of cloth to clean it. The effort did little to help improve the appearance of the shabby rag, but it created quite a cloud to fill the Ranger's lungs. His three companions stopped breathing as well. But their luck held, or the Valar were watching them, for no ill came of it beyond a hoarse, dry throat. Breathing a sigh of relief, they moved on—

And someone jostled Elladan.

The Elf nimbly kept his feet, but those around him went still nonetheless. The sudden stillness spread through the street and slowly became filled with whispers and muttering. Aragorn's eyes were wide as he stared as his foster-brother. Elladan's momentary confusion swiftly twisted into a mirror of the man's shock as he realized what had happened: his hood had fallen back.

The slim face, with its moonlight-brushed skin under the sun beneath dark silken hair parted by sharp, pointed ears, was alien to the people of Ostad. Alien, but instantly recognizable for what it was: the face of an Elf.

Elladan quickly flipped his hood back up, but the damage had been done. The humming commotion would soon reach the ears of a guard, and they would know that no Elf had entered the city—not through the gate, at any rate. Taking advantage of the surprise that was still gripping the people around them, the four interlopers shoved through the unresisting crowd with haste. Beneath their cloaks, each one had a hand on his sword hilt.

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**AM –** having twin brothers _so_ much older than you _has _to have been annoying…

**Deana –** as always, I promise to do my best! And of course, thank you. :)

**Susan W –** Chuckle—and snicker—away, m'dear. But me, torture people? Gasp! Never! …well okay, maybe a _leeeeetle _bit… ;) Poor Gimli indeed. He still hasn't gotten any axe-bashing in. Legolas better be careful with that baiting or he might end up helping the Dwarf relieve his frustrations whether he wants to or not. As for Faramir…heh heh heh, once again. Nope! I'm not telling you—or poor resolute Éowyn—a _thing! _Yes, yes, I am indeed evil…thank you, thank you… And I really will update as fast as I can. And I'm sorry I can't do daily, that'd be awesome I quite agree!

**Jebb –** Don't I know it! I love my laptop but sometimes…jeez…! A patient Dwarf, an Elvish plan, one set of pointy ears, plus one very trigger-happy axe equals…bashed ears for Legolas! Hee. Thanks!

**Star-Stallion –** No trouble _yet_, unless you count Gimli's plotted revenge…which ought to be trouble enough for any one Elf to deal with… Hey, I don't _always _foreshadow cliff-hangers, you know. Just nine times out of ten. ;) Anyway thanks, glad you liked it! And again, so sorry I'm updating slowly.

**Slayer3 –** Eep! Wow. Hey, how does one do a "woo hoo" anyway? Is that some form of dance? ;P Glad you liked the trailer, I'm eager to see it…although there's a certain Part Three coming soon that must take precedence for me as far as excitement-allocation goes…lol

**Laiquendi –** Thanks for the welcome! And yes, if you ever want to see what it looks like when a Dwarf explodes, just tell Legolas to be secretive and infuriating—more than he usually is—for a few days. _Tsk_, yes, gotta watch out for that impulsive young Aragorn, never know what trouble the boy will get into next. lol. Do we have another dun dun DUN? Perhaps. ;) YAY! The nutella lives! Ha, take that Sauron! Chocolate is the _true _ultimate power in the universe! Oops, mixing realities again. Oh well, I have _nutella! _Whoo hoo! Ouch, hot! Hot hot hot! Eeep!

**Avalon –** Do I…? Oh yeah. I do. Heh, that's what happens when you aren't a beach person; you forget it's only twenty minutes away. But the river's nice! We had random fireworks last night for no reason that anyone could figure out. Strange but awesome. QUACK! ;) Yes, the chapter: Legoals certainly is keeping that in mind, isn't he? Poor out-of-his-depth Elf…especially once Gimli gets through with the infuriating little princeling! Heh. And cities, at least, don't have bugs. Unless you're in Savannah, in which case there are more bugs than I've seen anywhere other than the Chesapeake Bay at night in July. Ick. Oh, Aragorn wants to thank you for the hug and tell you to ignore Arwen and her rendition of her father's patented Death Glare. Yay for squeeglomps of doom! Consider it returned!

**Aranna –** Hope you're feeling better and midterms went well! And now help is lost with a mob on their heels…lol. Some rescue! Perhaps they'd like it back in their—er, wrong universe again, sorry! _blushes! _Yes, the horses…heh heh heh. And I'm glad you liked the city's visuals, I love things like that! Hope your imagination concocted a great one! And I wonder if Gimli gets hazard pay for Éowyn-sitting…? (I know Elladan does!) Surely it wouldn't be as bad as Aragorn-sitting but still, she _is _a rather stubborn little shieldmaiden…lol ;)**Lil **

**Pippin Padfoot –** No crying, no crying! Well…at least not yet. I _am _the Mistress of Evil, so if there are tears down the way, well, I can't really complain, can I? But I'm updating! No killy, no killy! Erk. Grounded, huh? Ouchness. I hope you don't get in any trouble for sneaking stories! And was that representing perhaps a hint? Nah, couldn't be…I'll just ignore it…

**East Coastie –** Don't fall off that seat yet! And don't worry, it won't be ending for _quite _a while. I'm not sure how long, but there's rather a bit to cover yet, never fear! It seems I either write one-shots or twenty-plus chapter pieces. Go figure. Ramble away, and good luck on that long hiatus:)

Again, people, thank you thank you thank you for sticking with the story and my deepest and most sincere apologies. I swear, I feel guilty enough I ought to be in an angst-piece right now… I hope there's at least enough story to make it sort of worth waiting. Anyway, I'm sorry and keep on enjoying! And reviewing, you really make my day. So many thanks again! Oh, yes—nutella, anyone? I'm afraid it's a little bit melty, but still good… Until our next meeting:)


	10. In Which There is Much Running, Some Swo...

Chapter Ten

Legolas suddenly stiffened and shaded his eyes with a thin hand. "I have found them," he said in a somewhat strangled voice. Gimli and Éowyn looked, but could not see clearly through the distance, sun, and dust the filled the space between them.

"What is it?" asked Gimli, tightening his grip on his axe's haft.

"They have…caused a commotion," Legolas said delicately. "I shall endeavor to attract their attention without garnering that of others less desirable."

"And how do you plan to do that, exactly?" Gimli grumbled, but the Elf was already rising smoothly to his feet on top of the dirt-coated roof. He cupped his hands around his mouth and drew in a deep breath…

…………

Elladan paused so suddenly that Mallor ran into him. The Elf absently steadied the man, but his attention was elsewhere. Aragorn and Rhìmbron turned to see what the problem was—along with a good portion of the citizens on the street surrounding them. The Elf ignored them all, his hooded face a study of concentration.

"Elladan—" Aragorn started to say, but he held up a hand to silence the man. He tilted his head as if he were listening to something, then met his foster-brother's eyes.

"Legolas," he said in explanation. "Come."

"You found them?" Aragorn asked, but the Elf was already dashing away. The three men could do nothing but race after him, confusion on their faces.

After a few minutes of a devastating sprint that all but knocked their cloaks from their backs with the speed they ran at, Elladan turned, not even winded. "We are near; I know not exactly where they are, but Legolas's song came from here…"

Looking over his shoulder to speak to the men, he did not look around the corner before turning it. As such, he did not see the company of guards marching by. He stopped abruptly, and the Men regarded the hood-less Elf with as much shock as he stared at them. The Elf recovered first and, flipping his hood once more over his face, turned to run back the way he had come, but his companions were not so light on their feet, and the guards came to their senses quickly.

They did not know of the sweep now being done in another part of the city for the "four intruder Elves," but they knew full well that no Elf was supposed to be in Ostad. That he had moved to flee from them only cemented in their minds the knowledge that he—and his friends—needed to be taken captive immediately. Drawing their weapons—a mix of swords, staves, clubs, and knives—they advanced on the outnumbered companions, who likewise drew their blades.

The swiftness with which the swords cleared their hilts, and the glimmer of the powerful and deadly blades, along with the grim fearlessness in the four faces, gave the soldiers pause. But, seeing how they outnumbered them by six, they soon recovered their determination to their duty.

Judging that Elladan would be the weakest of the four—for the people of Ostad are long-accustomed to gauging strength by appearance, and the slim Elf did not look as formidable to them as the sturdier Rangers—he was their first target. They soon discovered their mistake as his thin silvery blade twisted around the metal-banded club of his attacker. When the sturdy club fell in four smooth-cut sections, neatly sliced through the wooden parts, there was another pause, and the guards started to think that they perhaps ought to have sent for help before engaging their quarry. But there were still more of them than the intruders, and the former club-holder was now angered. Drawing a short dagger from his belt, he lunged at the Elf, who neatly stepped aside. The man's lunge carried him into the conveniently extended sword of Mallor, and as he fell to the ground the battle was joined in earnest.

The Rangers flanked their king, despite his scowls, determined to allow no harm to come to him. Elladan, having had more experience fighting side by side with the man, as well as more confidence in his abilities—having done a fair part of Aragorn's training himself—stood slightly apart, blade flashing faster than mortal eyes could follow. The clash of steel on steel echoed through the ragged streets, and onlookers gathered at a safe distance, whispering among themselves.

Not all the onlookers were content to merely watch, however. A light voice broke easily through the sounds of fighting. "Aragorn! Elladan!" Legolas called, "_garo le baur o thaed?_"

"Not at all," replied Aragorn casually, sparing a glance at the slim blonde figure leaning down from a low rooftop. "But to prevent you from suffering boredom, I suppose I shall allow you to shoot one or two—providing Mallor and Rhìmbron do not object?" The Rangers shook their heads, studiously concentrating on their battles and ignoring their king's frivolity. "Elladan?"

Elladan smiled mischievously as he spoke. "I suppose I can be persuaded. After all, I would offer the young prince any chance to surpass Gimli's latest score."

Legolas cocked an eyebrow. "You are hardly ancient yourself, Lord of Rivendell. And where is your Elvish pride, that you so swell an already over-large Dwarven head within his hearing?"

Elladan scowled at his kinsman. He had not known that the Dwarf was there to overhear his mocking words, but the deep chuckle was unmistakable. "Come, then, prince, and put my grandmother's gift to use," he said shortly. Legolas laughed merrily, and soon the beautiful bow of the Galadhrim was singing.

The guards, surprised and unprepared for this new attack, fell back in disarray. They were now greatly reduced in number, and saw no option but retreating from these strange, dangerous intruders—and they did so with all due haste. Mallor and Rhìmbron pursued them until the end of the alley they were in, but seeing that they showed no signs of regrouping, the Rangers stopped and stood guard at the mouth of the street. Legolas lightly jumped down from the ceiling and embraced Aragorn and Elladan in a quick greeting. He turned around in time to help Éowyn swing down, but knew better than to offer assistance to Gimli. The Dwarf landed in the street with a large explosion of dust and a loud _thud_. He rose with a grumble, but put up with Aragorn's hug with only a slight mutter of exasperation.

"Come," the king said, patting the Dwarf's shoulder, "we should be off. I have only the vaguest plan of how to escape this city, and it relied heavily on our not being discovered. Now that we have been, I have no doubt that it will be doubly difficult. Nonetheless, I would not wait here for more to arrive."

Nodding in agreement, the others moved off—flanking the king and Éowyn, who both put up with it with patient sighs and rolled eyes—weapons held out and at the ready. They had to be on their guard, for they would find no friends in this city…

…………

There were, however, plenty of enemies awaiting them. They managed to avoid getting drawn into any large fights, favoring a hit-and-run strategy, for they were all fleet of feet and had decided that for once honor could bear with running. It was not a choice that sat well in their hearts, but they all knew that seven alone could not overthrow an entire city, and it was far better to return with force.

"My lord," Éowyn breathed as she ran next to the king, "what of Faramir?"

Although she did her best to speak neutrally, she could not hide the worry in her eyes from Aragorn's keen sight. He smiled slightly to reassure her as best he could. "We have not the forces to rescue him now, with the city alerted to our presence as it is. I would see us safely out before making any specific plans, yet my thoughts are to send word back to Gondor of the aid we need while a few of us attempt to re-enter more subtly and spy out where he is held, and perhaps learn why."

Éowyn raised an eyebrow. "And should I assume that one of the messengers will be myself?"

"You are the best rider here, my lady," Aragorn replied tactfully.

The gaze she turned on the king informed him that she was fully aware that her riding skills had little to do with the reason for sending her, and while she appreciated his attempt she could see right through it. Aragorn replied with a very innocent expression before remembering that she had seen such a look cross his face often enough for it to have lost all effectiveness. Éowyn sighed, but returned her attention to running; keeping up with Elves and Rangers left little time or breath to waste in speech.

Unless, of course, one was an Elf. Then one seemed to have no need to conserve air for running. Legolas and Elladan had kept up a hushed conversation in hurried Sindarin the entire time. Their voices were too low for Aragorn to be able to catch it all, and he had paid little attention to their words, choosing instead to watch and listen to the city around them. But as their voices raised and their tones became more insistent, he turned his ears towards their speech.

"_I tell you, Legolas, we ought to run towards the Old City; they will never expect us to go over their precious Inner Wall, and will not look for us there." _

_"And yet if we hide there, we only find ourselves with two walls between us and freedom."_

_"Yet if we vanish from their minds, their watch will lessen, and it will be far easier to slip out unnoticed. At the least, we should find somewhere to wait for nightfall; there is much less of a chance of us being spotted in an escape when their eyes are dimmed by darkness. It is only a few hours off. And while I have no fear of fighting them, I also have no wish to slaughter Men needlessly."_

_"Nor do I, my friend, but…" _Legolas trailed off a moment, his voice coated with enough uncertainty that it made the hairs on the back of Aragorn's neck stand on end nervously._ "I would not see our white lady spend time here needlessly." _

_"You worry too much, little prince,"_ Elladan replied confidently._ "We will let no harm befall her, and the lady is well capable of caring for herself."_

_"It is not her swordsmanship that worries me,"_ Legolas said in a low voice.

The curiosity in Elladan's voice was palpable. _"Then what is it that you fear?" _

_"It is not my secret to share,"_ Legolas replied firmly.

Their conversation paused then, and Aragorn knew that Elladan was doing the same thing he was: reviewing everything that Éowyn had done or said since they had met her. He was also studying Legolas's actions towards her; he did not know if Gimli was privy to the secret, and so did not wish to color his observation incorrectly and so he focused solely on the Elf. Frustratingly, Aragorn could not recall anything having been different in either's manner.

_"I would appreciate more clarification, as I am sure would Elladan,"_ Aragorn at last spoke to the blond Elf in front of him.

Legolas glanced at him over his shoulder, but Aragorn could not read the expression in his eyes. "I am sorry, _hir nin_," he whispered in Westron, "but as I have said, it is a secret that is not mine to tell."

Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw Éowyn's face turn towards the Elf, and her gaze sharpened on him. Legolas gave no sign of being aware that the two humans were staring at him, and turned his full attention very obviously towards the city around them.

_"I do not think you will get anything more from him, my brother,"_ Elladan said with a slight, grudging smile_. "The little prince can be quite stubborn."_

Elladan said with a slight, grudging smile. 

Legolas spared a glare for the other Elf's comment, but refused to respond. Aragorn sighed; Elladan was right, and he knew that he would receive no further words from the archer, whatever motivation he attempted to use to pry them from his tightly-pressed lips.

Giving up, Aragorn decided that he would simply have to wait to learn the answer when Legolas felt the time was right…or when Éowyn herself spoke, for it seemed to be a secret shared with her.

…………

Gimli had not understood the quiet speech in Sindarin, but he had heard Legolas's final words in the Common Tongue. Picking up his pace, he left Mallor and Rhìmbron to guard their flanks and caught up with Legolas.

"What is this secret of which you speak?" he asked the Elf in a low voice as he ran beside him.

Legolas shook his head and spoke sternly. "The secret is not mine, Master Dwarf; no more of it will I say."

"Then you should not have spoken of it in the first place," Gimli replied grumpily.

Legolas glared down at the Dwarf. "I do not believe that I spoke anything to you. If you will listen to the conversations of others, inevitably you will be annoyed by the lack of explanation for what you hear," he said primly.

Gimli raised his eyebrows in mock shock. "And now we have one of the Wise among us, to offer counsel to those of us whose thoughts run lesser paths."

Elladan snorted quietly, then both the Elves stiffened, their hands tightening reflexively on their weapons. "Aragorn," the older of the two ancient youths whispered, "there is a sound of metal jingling."

"Harnesses and weapons, from the tone," Legolas added and Elladan nodded his agreement.

"How many?" Aragorn asked quietly, gesturing for them all to stop.

The two Elves exchanged a glance before shrugging. "It is too many and too distant yet to tell," Elladan informed him, "but it is not the small groups of guards we have encountered before. I would think—"

He was interrupted as an arrow nearly pierced him. Twisting with uncanny reflexes and agility, he avoided the projectile by a hairsbreadth, but it was soon followed by a second.

The Companions dove for the sides of the street, taking what shelter they could between the shabby constructs that lined it haphazardly.

"Where is it coming from?" Aragorn asked, trying to peek around the corner of his chosen building without becoming a target.

Legolas leaned far out into the street, ignorant of the danger. "I believe there are three of them atop the high building to the right of the corner," he said calmly as the archers turned their sights on him. Gimli growled something uncomplimentary about Elves and hauled his friend back before he became a pincushion. They both turned to scold the other—Legolas because the shot he had been about to line up was ruined; Gimli for how foolish the Elf had been. Mallor, who was next to them, interrupted the argument.

"My lords—look!" He pointed to something over Aragorn's head, but he could not see through the building he was leaning against.

"What is it?" the king hissed to his companions on the other side of the street. He could see Elladan out of the corner of his eye, craning his neck in an effort to see over the dilapidated walls behind them. Éowyn hissed for the Elf to be careful he didn't get shot, and Elladan sourly gave up.

"There are men climbing onto the roofs a street over; I do not believe that they will be able to hit us where we stand, but if we attempt to run for the corner—as we must to escape the archers behind us without running into the guards who seem to be coming to head us off from the other direction—we will make wonderful targets," Legolas told them calmly.

Aragorn cursed silently, and thought as quickly as he could. "Can you guess roughly how many are coming towards us?" he asked the Elf at his side.

Elladan frowned. "Legolas," he called, "does it sound to you as if—"

"Ay," the other interrupted, knowing what was about to be asked. "They have indeed split up. I cannot tell precisely what direction they go in now, for the two groups are too close."

"It may even be three," Elladan added. "I cannot be sure, for, as Legolas says, their noises mask each other in these twisting streets."

"I shall find out," Legolas said, and before anyone could move to stop him he had lightly scaled the building behind him. He presented a tempting target in the late afternoon sunlight, but was quick enough that by the time the arrows were flying in his direction he had already leaped nimbly across the narrow street.

Aragorn heard the sound of light feet landing gracefully above his head, for the boards on which the Elf ran were shaky enough that even his light footfalls made them shift enough that the sharp-eared Ranger so close to them could hear the motion. He tried to track Legolas with his ears, but gave up; the arrows were interfering, and as there was no sound of an impact with anything but wood he knew they had all missed the Elf. All he could tell from the arrows was where Legolas had _been_ moments before. Of far more accurate guidance were the furious eyes of the Dwarf across the street. Gimli seemed to be ready to kill the prince with his glare if the arrows did not do the job properly.

After an endless amount of time that was in reality little more than moments, Aragorn heard the return of the light footfalls—and the arrows sounded much closer. He tensed, waiting for everything to go wrong. The archers knew where Legolas was heading; if they shot ahead of the Elf instead of trying to catch him, there was a chance that they would find their target despite his agility.

Then there was a flash of motion and the Elf was tumbling gracefully from the sky. He gave Aragorn a quick half-smile; he had probably heard him tense with apprehension, and was shaking his head at the man's pointless worrying. Then he sprang up, almost before his toes had brushed the ground, and he landed lightly between the startled Ranger and the glowering Dwarf. Arrows stuck quivering in the dust where the prince had been less than a second before.

Legolas was an image of perfect innocence as the mortals glowered at him. Elladan offered a slight grin as he shook his head at the other Elf. As if nothing had happened, Legolas drew himself up and related the information from his scouting trip. "The enemy has split into three groups that I can see." He spoke just loudly enough that the others could hear him above the hiss of arrows. "The largest one is gathering for an ambush along our most probable exit route—may I suggest we not take the straight road?"

Seeing from their glares that the others were in no mood for levity, Legolas quickly continued. "The second group is hurrying to the mouth of the street from where we came; I believe they intend to attempt to drive us into their fellows. There are enough of them that with the archers they will possibly be able to do so…providing their archers have the intelligence to save their arrows for when they have a chance of hitting us," he added disdainfully. Aragorn sighed; trust the prince to focus on poor archery planning when their lives were under threat of arrows that were not nearly as far from their targets as Elven scorn made them out to be.

Legolas spared a moment to sigh at the archers, then continued quickly. "The smallest one is fortifying the little alley to the left, but they are few enough that we ought to be able to scatter them before they fully settle themselves. There are also eight archers gathered to aid in the ambush a street over from us. The ones shooting aimlessly into the dirt now number four." He paused, and his eyes met Aragorn's. "And…it does not look as if the outer walls are to be safely crossed. There are men stationed thickly along it, all of them armed, and watchful within the city rather than without."

The Elf stopped, and everyone looked at Aragorn. He sighed, and decided that his plans of a swift escape were now lost beyond resurrection. "All right," he said quickly, "we'll make for the alley. Gimli and I will lead the charge, followed by Legolas and Éowyn, then Mallor and Rhìmbron, and Elladan will guard the rear." The others nodded and adjusted their grips on their weapons. "Legolas?"

The Elf leaned out around the corner of the building, oblivious to the arrows flying towards his face. He waited a moment, then nodded. "Go," he whispered.

Aragorn and Gimli leapt forward, sprinting towards the wall as all four archers scrambled to notch a new arrow, having just released one. One of their previous shafts caught in Aragorn's cloak, and another grazed the mail on Gimli's shoulder, but there were no injuries—although an arrow from behind came disquietingly close to taking more than a few strands of Aragorn's streaming hair with it. He would have shaken his head at the Elf, but feared that doing so would land him in the path of another shaft, which came but a second later. Only Legolas would risk a shot like that while scrambling through a gauntlet, and the king had no doubt that it had found its mark.

Éowyn and Legolas had been less than a second behind the Dwarf and Man, with Mallor and Rhìmbron right on their heels. The only reason that Elladan did not step on the Rangers' streaming capes as he followed them was the Elvish grace of his nimble steps in avoiding them. They ran the gauntlet almost unscathed; their closest shaves came when one grazed Mallor's arm and Legolas pushed Éowyn out of another's path with a sharp hiss as he twisted to avoid taking it himself. Elladan narrowly escaped one to his throat, but his sword flashed speedily enough to knock it aside.

They dodged out of sight and shot of the archers into the mouth of the narrow alley between two rows of ramshackle wood and cloth buildings, catching the supposed ambushers completely unprepared. Aragorn swung Andúril into the first man, and he collapsed in a blur of red. Gimli's axe moved in a wide arc, smashing into another with enough force that he flew into a rough wooden wall and lay still, cracking himself as much as the thin boards. Another arrow whipped by Aragorn's ear as Legolas shot down a third.

Aragorn heard sword impacts behind him as the others flashed through the ring of men right behind him. They were already running for the end of the alley when they saw that it was a dead end. There was a wall of wood in front of them. Apparently the men had crossed into the small cul-de-sac from an opening between two poorly constructed homes which the companions had already raced past. They would have to turn and fight their way back to it. But why had Legolas not noticed the problem before? It was unlike the Elf to be so lax.

But as Aragorn started to stop and turn, the archer raced past him. He sprang nimbly up the wall and balanced easily on the thin wood. Aragorn almost groaned aloud; the Elf seemed to have forgotten the limitations of mortals.

"Hurry," Legolas was yelling, reaching a hand down for the others. Did the Elf intend to haul them all over the wall? _Apparently yes_, Aragorn thought with a resigned sigh.

"Éowyn!" he commanded as he turned with the other four to engage the soldiers who had turned and moved to face them. "You are light enough for Legolas to easily lift alone," he added shortly when the woman hesitated. She paused a moment more before running to the wall and leaping as high as she could. Legolas easily caught the woman's arms and swung her up onto the wall. They balanced there a moment, then he swung her over the side. The wall shook slightly with the sudden change of weight, but the Elf seemed unaware of the precariousness of his perch.

Éowyn unsheathed her sword again as soon as she straightened, but there was no enemy here. Only a thin wall separated her from the others, but already they seemed removed from her by the haze of dust that floated through the air of the ragged city. One thin wall, and one slim Elf, who was now shouting for the next person to be dragged from the fight. She took a deep breath, ignoring the dry air, and stared hard at the empty streets. Apparently the threat of battle had driven the inhabitants of the city into their meager dwellings, but they were still there.

She could feel them watching her in fear. The White Lady of Rohan smiled grimly. If they feared one lone, dust-stained woman, they would offer no threat to the legends she traveled with.

That Éowyn herself was a legend in her own right did not cross the woman's mind, but certainly it shone in the cold steel in her hands and the matching glint in her eyes.

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**lindahoyland –** Why thank you! And yes, that bit about the liege lord actually struck me when I was reading _Two Towers _while we were studying _Beowulf. _Suddenly both cultures clicked in my head and they made perfect, complete sense. It was quite cool. I'm glad I managed to get that across. Thanks! And of course, welcome to the story! Glad you like!

**Slayer3 –** I don't think I even know what's going on anymore! Hee hee. Well, cue the Darth Vader breathing and on with the reviews, I suppose! Dance away, my dear.

**Jebb –** All I can say is, Legolas is lucky Gimli finally got to use that axe on the soldiers of Ostad, because his golden head was starting to look like a mighty tempting target! ;) As to the rescue party—heh heh heh. What can I say, they came in without a plan for getting out; this is what happens with poor planning!

**AM –** Ah, those confounding hobbits… ;)

**Susan W –** Cliffs? Hanging? I see no cliffs, and I have no gallows set up. I know not of what you speak. (Gee, I wonder where Legolas gets his infuriatingness from?) And don't worry, I'm sure that after they tell Elrohir what happened, he'll let Elladan forget about his slip. Eventually. Some day. Like, in the Eighth Age of the world or sometime…if he's feeling generous. As for the city's surprises…mwahaha. Ha. ;) However, as to Faramir…erm, how patient can you be? Because, um, and remember if you kill me he'll never be rescued, our dear captain won't return until this story is at least twice as long as it is now, I'm thinking… Cue innocent whistling and sidling away out of range of projectiles from enraged Faramir-fans…

**Laiquendi –** Hee hee, now I'm seeing Elladan say that as his hood falls! Oh yes, that Elf and Dwarf, they never stop, do they? Wonder how long it'll be before they drive Aragorn completely batty…

**Lil Pippin Padfoot –** Ungrounded, yay! Puck…hee hee… Either I mistake your shape and making quite, or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite called Legolas Thranduilion…now I'm picturing Legolas…hee…sorry, when I think of Puck, I always think of the hairy little hobgoblin from Neil Gaimen's _The Sandman_ and…hee hee hee…more hair than a Dwarf…hee…um…yeah, now I'm getting an Elvish glare…er…I'll stop laughing now. Or at least try to. Heh.

**East Coastie –** Yay, time! I think I remember what that is…distantly…wait, isn't it that thing that you trade sleep to get? Yeah, I think that's it… Anyway, I'm glad to hear you have some! As to your question, yes, in the movie he gets Narsil, which when it was reforged was re-named as Andúril, Flame of the West. In the book, it was reforged roughly the week before the Fellowship left (Aragorn had been carrying around a scabbard with the pieces in it prior to this, rather than it lying in state in Rivendell) and Aragorn carried it throughout the rest of the story. Elrond never showed up, but rather Elladan and Elrohir, along with a bunch of Dúnedain—the Grey Company—led by Halbarad, and they rode with Aragorn through the Paths of the Dead and came by ship with him, and rather than a sword the brothers brought Arwen's banner she'd embroidered for the King when Aragorn revealed his true identity. Actually, Aragorn wasn't even _really _the heir to Gondor but rather to Arnor, because the two had split and…um. And once more I manage to go into far more detail than is necessary, woo! Heh. That's the problem with being a detail freak—restraint, restraint, restraint! ;)

_That's actually why I have so little time—details and my (lack of) restraint. I _could_ draw really simple, stylized comics, but _nooooo_ I have to put in a million little details and shadows on the clothes and faces and…sigh. Being a detail-freak is time-consuming. At least I try to avoid having to draw backgrounds! I can only imagine how long _that_ would take! Ugh. So yeah, blame my nitpicky nature for the slowness that will be plaguing updates. Oh well, at least it teaches me the value of restraint…even if it's hard to put into practice. ;) Anyway, even if I haven't brought poor Faramir back we've allowed Gimli to work off some frustration, so _some_one's happy! _

_Oh, and when Legolas talks in Sindarin up near the beginning of the chapter, he's basically just asking if they need any help, that's all. Probably incorrectly, as I looked it up a while ago and I'm really not that good at Elvish. Oh well! I thought it seemed pretty obvious what the gist of it was. Hope no one's bothered by the lack of an exact translation. And if you see a problem and want to fix it, by all means, go right ahead. See you all next time!_


	11. Down the Alleyway

Sorry it's been so long everyone. First Middle-earth was swallowed by a galaxy far, far away, then finals ate me. Anyway, many, many apologies for making you wait. Here's the latest:

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Rhìmbron could barely concentrate on his own battle, he was so busy watching the others. He had never fought beside them before, and to see the living legends this closely was even more impressive than the most far-fetched stories.

King Elessar seemed to glow with a strange light, and his face was more noble than the graven images of the great kings of old. Andúril flamed in his hand in the sunlight, and a great wrath shone from his eyes. Rhìmbron was surprised that the men who faced him had the courage to lift their blades to his great sword and to stand firm before the power of his gaze. But perhaps they took comfort in the fact that he was a Man, and even the greatest of Men is more familiar to the lesser members of that race than the other two creatures who fought at the king's side.

Elladan, son of Elrond, was even more a relic of past glories than King Aragorn. The Elves might have been fading, but that fading had yet to touch the firm face and form of the Rivendell Elf. His curved blade was a silver blur cutting between the swords of those who faced him before they could move their own weapons to meet it. His smooth face and ageless eyes, star-lit even in the morning, burned at once with a terrible rage and a terrible sorrow. Anger of more power than Rhìmbron had ever seen blazed from the Elf's strange eyes, but it was melded with a deep sadness that the man could not fathom. He tore his gaze from the Elf Lord with difficulty when he heard a harsh cry in a strange tongue.

Gimli son of Gloin stood firmly in the dust, swinging his large axe. Despite the narrow alley and proximity of allies, which should have made fighting with a battleaxe not only difficult but dangerous to friend as well as foe, Gimli seemed to have no trouble with his weapon. The axe seemed an extension of the short Dwarf's arms, swung with more strength than that of the hardiest of Men. His eyes burned with a fire as hot as any forge, and his grim smile warned his enemies to beware as much as the deadly, blood-etched axe's sharp blade.

"Gimli, you are next!" Aragorn commanded. The Dwarf glared and seemed about to refuse, but the king continued. "Get to the Lady Éowyn, and see that Legolas does not do anything foolish."

Apparently the Dwarf accepted that as good enough reasoning for leaving the field of battle when enemies were still standing, for he took a last mighty swing that sent his opponents leaping backwards—two of them bleeding, one of them badly—then charged towards the wall. Rhìmbron did not know if his king truly thought the prince needed looking after (certainly after that reckless stunt on the roof he would have believed it likely), or if he simply wanted to get the Dwarf and his large axe out of the small space for fear of exuberance overriding caution. A battleaxe is not the sort of weapon one would choose for close work in a confined area. Perhaps it was a bit of both reasons. Rhìmbron knew the king was wise; that he was as wise without time to think as he was with careful planning should have been taken as a given, but the Ranger had never bothered to wonder before.

He spared a glance behind him as he heard a _thud_ and the sound of breath being released in an explosive gush. Apparently Gimli had missed the Elf's hand. Legolas's face twitched a moment as if endeavoring very hard not to break into a smile, but Rhìmbron decided he must have imagined it, for after he blinked the prince was as serious as Elladan.

"Again, Gimli! Leap _upwards_ this time!" The Elf's musical voice rang easily through the ragged clash of fighting.

"I can jump without aid, Master Elf!" The Dwarf's lower tone rumbled clearly beneath the clash of metal; it seemed to echo with the hint of rocks and stone.

"Well enough for a Dwarf, I suppose," Legolas responded doubtfully.

Rhìmbron turned away, amazed that the two were called fast friends. It seemed to him more that they were eternal rivals, ever trading short words and barbs. Then he frowned; none of their dialogue seemed to carry actual venom. It was more a sort of fond back-and-forth, and though he had only met them this night, he would be willing to swear that it was filled with more laughter than anger. They were strange indeed, he decided, and resolved not to try and figure them out—at least not now, when he ought to be concentrating on the man he was fighting, not trying to puzzle out the heroes he was surrounded by.

There was a grunt and then a loud quavering of wood, punctuated by a few quieter grunts and a light Elvish chuckle, then a heavy _thud _as if something had landed hard. The Ranger knew that Gimli must have dropped to the other side of the wall, for rather than a continuation of taunts between the two, Legolas then called out, "Aragorn, come now!" There was the faintest hint of anxiety in the Elf's voice, and Rhìmbron looked to the king to see what could be the cause. Aragorn was more than holding his own against the three men he was fighting, and as Rhìmbron watched one of them went down to a harsh blow from Andúril.

Rhìmbron looked around, trying to see what danger threatened his king. Already, there were only six of the enemy left, and another had just fallen to Elladan's dance of steel. Then the Ranger caught movement above him. He glanced up, and saw two archers scrambling over the roofs towards them. They were moving carefully, for the buildings were unstable and often cloth covered holes and gaps in the wood. But they would soon have a perfect angle with which to rain arrows upon the remaining companions' heads.

"Go, my liege! Quickly!" Rhìmbron shouted. He heard the ring of metal carving metal, and saw Aragorn slice Andúril's tip through the rough chainmail of one of his remaining opponents. Then Elladan was at the king's side, easily taking the attention of the remaining guard from the Man. Rhìmbron finally dispatched his own opponent, urgency lending him speed, and joined Elladan and Mallor in dealing with the remaining four. Aragorn frowned, but sheathed his sword and backed towards the wall where Legolas was crouched gracefully.

The Elf reached down a hand, and King Aragorn lunged to grab it. Using the momentum from the Man's lunge, the prince was able to quickly haul him up. Aragorn was less sure of his balance on the thin wall, but managed to steady himself with Legolas's assistance.

"Mallor!" Aragorn shouted. The Ranger turned to see the king waiting for the other man, then looked back just in time to parry a blow from a staff before it met his face. He looked at Elladan, who had paused for a moment.

"Estel," the Elf shouted, "more are coming!"

"I know!" he called back. "Mallor, hurry!" The man dodged backwards from the fray and ran to the wall, sheathing his sword as he went. Elladan casually parried the blade of the man's former opponent.

From the corner of his eye, Rhìmbron saw King Aragorn leaning down towards Mallor. The Elf held the king's arm to steady him, but his eyes were on the rooftops. Mallor jumped but not high enough. He missed the outstretched hands and fell back in the dust.

"Quickly!" Elladan commanded the Ranger, who leapt again, this time just catching Legolas's slim fingers as the Elf leaned halfway off the wall towards him. Aragorn reached for his other hand as the Ranger dangled in the air.

"Join the others!" Elladan commanded Rhìmbron hurriedly as the last of their enemy fell to the ground. The Elf rushed past him towards the mouth of the short alley, sword out and gleaming in the pale, dust-shrouded sunlight. "Go!" With a start, the Ranger realized he had been staring, and turned away.

He saw King Aragorn finally catch hold of Mallor's swinging wrist, and he and Legolas hauled him up. They helped guide him over the wall, and then dropped him lightly down the other side. Off-balance from the sudden release of weight, Aragorn wavered, but the Elf kept him from falling. Wordlessly, the king grasped the Elf's shoulder and pointed. Rhìmbron turned just as the sound of steel met steel. The rest of the enemy had found them!

Rhìmbron moved back and pulled out his sword to aid Elladan, but the son of Elrond was a warrior unmatched by many. With a few quick thrusts so graceful it looked more like dancing then fighting, the Elf cast the first soldier's corpse to the ground.

"Rhìmbron!" he heard his liege hiss sharply. "Come now!"

The man turned away from the Elf once more and ran towards the end of the alley. He had only taken a few steps, however, when he felt a sudden sharp pain in his shoulder and he fell. Dimly, he saw an arrow protruding from his chest's left side, and wondered where it had come from. He heard his king speaking, and looked up, but could not understand his words. _Is he speaking in another tongue? _the Ranger mused in confusion. But no; it did not even sound like real words. It was more like a rushing of wind. But how had his king sucked the wind into his mouth, and how could it be so loud?

Shadows were creeping now, and though he blinked furiously, it was darkening in his eyes. _That is strange_, Rhìmbron thought distantly, _I thought there were hours yet 'til dusk..._ Then he saw no more, and all he knew was night.

………

Aragorn froze, staring as Rhìmbron slumped to the ground. The Man still breathed, but it was a near thing. Despite his talents for healing, the king knew that he would not be able to save him here, and his eyes burned. The only hope the injured Ranger had was in the mercy of their captors, and in the hopes that they would be skillful in healing and willing to do so to a prisoner. Where they in Minas Tirith, Aragorn could have easily taken care of him—but here, fleeing from a small army, there was nothing he could do.

The thought must have been apparent in his eyes, for when Elladan met his gaze, the Elf nodded sharply. "Get down!" he called to them, "you are perfect targets, and our presence is now more hindrance than help to Rhìmbron."

Aragorn was about to argue when he was interrupted by a _thunk_ as an arrow stuck quivering into the wall inches from Legolas's outstretched hand. Elladan's sword flashed, and the next man to enter the alley fell in a bloody pool. The mouth of the street was too thin to allow numbers to overwhelm the Elf; he could easily cut them down before they could get through. But the archers, now being swelled by greater numbers from the obviously-failed ambush, were another matter entirely. Legolas unslung his bow and smoothly fitted an arrow to it, releasing three that found their targets before eyes could blink. But the enemy had not given up on their own attacks in the face of the Elf's retaliation. Aragorn gasped as sharp pain grazed his cheek and ripped at his hair.

Elladan looked back and saw the blood leaking down Aragorn's face. "Get down!" he shouted again. "Go; I will follow swiftly!"

"What of Rhìmbron?" asked Legolas anxiously.

Aragorn answered instead. "We can do nothing for him now but hope that our enemy wants live captives rather than dead. I have not the provisions with me to properly treat such an injury; we must trust his life to captivity." The words left a foul taste in Aragorn's mouth, and Legolas's eyes hardened unhappily. He quickly fired another two arrows, but the third slipped from his fingers and he gave a faint cry. Aragorn looked at him sharply, but could not see where he had been injured. The Elf recovered himself quickly, and caught the arrow in mid-fall. Elladan spared a glance over his shoulder. "Get them out of here, Aragorn, Legolas!" he commanded, summoning the authority his father had left him. "I shall find you later!" He turned back to the front in time to dodge a low-swung blade and spin up inside the owner's reach, slitting him vertically. The Elf dodged the spray of blood and jabbed at another man. He shot an insistent glare back at the younger prince.

Legolas hesitated only a moment more, but the moment was long enough for another arrow to find its mark. Aragorn nearly fell from the thin wall in surprise as it pierced his shoulder. Whispering something in Sindarin that was too quiet for Aragorn to hear—but which the Ranger was certain was impolite—Legolas grabbed him and swung from the wall. The Elf landed lightly, back on his feet instantly; Aragorn stumbled only slightly, but it was enough to make him rebuke himself for his clumsiness.

Éowyn gasped at the sight of the arrow protruding from Aragorn's shoulder, and Gimli growled low in his throat. The three waiting on the other side of the wall had heard the sounds of battle fade and then resume, but they could not leap high enough to cross the wall on their own, and did not want to risk shaking either Elf-prince of king of men from the top by moving the frail wood.

And so they had waited, sword or axe in hand, anxiously looking between the dusty paths ahead of them and the cloaked figures on the wall above. There was no time for explanations now, however, and all knew that they needed to put distance between themselves and their pursuers—although the other three did not know why they were not joined by Elladan and Rhìmbron.

Aragorn nodded down the alley and switched Andúril to his left hand—the injured arm—so that he could clamp his other hand to his shoulder to slow the flow of blood. He did not wish to waste the time to tend to his wound now and knew from experience and skill that it was not grievous. He ignored Éowyn's pointed look and started off. Legolas was right at his side, bow out and arrow notched, although the Elf was careful not to walk so close that Aragorn would feel overly watched. Éowyn was not nearly so careful, and continually sent him glances that spoke plainly her dislike of leaving his wound to bleed freely and untended.

Gimli and Mallor brought up the rear, and Aragorn could feel their questioning gazes on his back, but there was no time to speak. He had to lead them away from Rhìmbron before the man bled to death, and trust that their enemies would see to his wounds. Before they were more than a few feet from the wall, there was a loud shuddering noise, followed by the sound of wood collapsing on wood. They froze and turned back, but could see nothing over the wall but a great cloud of dust filling the air.

Suddenly Elladan leaped smoothly over and was sprinting towards them seemingly before he had touched the ground. "I cut a building's supports," he explained quickly. "There will be confusion to shield our disappearance for a time, and enough minor injuries that someone is sure to see to Rhìmbron in the chaos. But we must flee before they learn that we were not caught by the collapse! _Tolo!_"

Without another word, Elladan was past them. The others quickly raced to keep up with the Elf, now abandoning stealth for speed, although still their footsteps were light and both Elladan and Legolas were utterly silent on the dusty streets. Both Elves were scouring the ramshackle buildings with fierce, bright eyes. There were watchers whose eyes were fixed on them, but they were hidden in fear within the shabby buildings. The bedraggled, poverty-stricken citizens of the Outer City were not the foes they searched for. Although any one of them could bring the guard upon them with a cry, none of the companions thought it likely that the gaunt, dust-eyed people would risk the attention of the strange band of blood-streaked fighters to do so.

Still, they had to escape their eyes; if their path was seen, it would only be a matter of time before the soldiers were once again behind them—or even waiting ahead. Ostad was shrouded in cold, overbearing danger as much as in dry, choking dust.

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Deana –** thank you, and terribly sorry you had to!

**AM –** Gimli quite agrees with you.

**Slayer3 – **I hope it was good! If I'm lucky I'll see it this week-end…

**Lil Pippin Padfoot –** Yay, 100th reviewer goodness for you! Er—um. Well, about that rescuing thing…yah…well…um…I'm just going to whistle and look innocent, shall I? Remember, if you kill me, they'll _never _rescue him. Just, uh, keep that in mind, okay? Point Dexter Andrew, thanks for helping out. And I _know _she's crazy. That's why she's _here. _We're _all _crazy here:) I hope your shoulder's better now, at least! Sounds painful.

**Quiet Infinity –** well, I'm detail obsessed, what can I say. It makes my life far more difficult than it ought to be when it comes to drawing comics, but oh well…at least detail-obsession has its upsides! Thank you for the wonderful review!

**lindahoyland –** Thank you, and NOPE! Bwahahaha.

**Cosmic Castaway –** um…tee hee? Ingratiating smile? Don't kill the cliffie-writer? All that? Heh. I'm really glad you're liking it so much! However, calling it an _escape…_well, I think you might overestimate their chances. ;)

**Aranna –** Forgiven instantly! I knew you knew he knew she knew he knew it. Yeah, I follow you. ;) Glad everybody likes the details! And suffocation is _always _a plus. Either that or I'm a little too _Episode III-_focused right now…nah, suffocation is always good, I was right the first time. Wonderful praise, I'm very happy, and I forget…huh? What do I forget? Wait, what's going on? I can't remember…if I praise all of you, will you forget I didn't update in forever? Heh. Yay for passing midterms, belated 'though the congratulations is! And that wasn't a sigh of relief, it was regret. So there. :P

**Jebb –** See? Lots of sword-swinging for you! And I'm _sure _that knowing that he annoyed Gimli had _nothing whatsoever _to do with Legolas's antics. Nope. Not at _all. _Well, I was _gonna _have Aragorn say that, but then I realized that Gimli would laugh so hard he'd kill himself. Or Legolas would do so for him. And, by the way, might I mention how much I especially love reviews that require me to apply a Darth Vader Force Choke to _myself _in order to prevent me from waking the sleeping roommate? Yeah, that's what happens when you have a morning class and your roommate doesn't but you check your reviews…hee hee hee! Ah man, now I'm watching _A New Hope _with Aragorn/Han, Legolas/Luke…so I guess Arwen is Leia, and would that make Gimli Chewie? The Wookiee _almost _has as much hair…er. But then Sauron is Legolas's father, and methinks continuing with that line of thought would make both Legolas and Thranduil kill me…and Sauron too, probably…and Elrond, and the twins, because that means Arwen is Legolas's sister which…I'm just going to stop talking and go boil my head. Right now.

**Susan W –** Back from head-boiling. Yeah, yeah, we'll rescue ol' what's-his-name eventually…lol. I dunno, actually, how much there'll be. Maybe just a few chapters, maybe twenty. No idea. We'll see where the story drags me off to! Ah, yes, understatement is holy. And you gotta _love _idiots who go "hey look at the skinny little Elf, he'll be easy to—urrk!" don't you? And immensely dense. Yes. Like, we're talking Guiness Book dense, here. And…immensely slow, too, on the update front. Er. Yes. Sorry about that…

**Laiquendi –** Hopefully it was long enough to make up for how late this one was in showing up! Gimli…clucking…feathers for a beard…mental image…dying of laughter…hee hee—er, um, not laughing. Nope. Definitely not laughing. Not at the Dwarf with the big, shiny, very sharp axe, at least. Um…could we have a certain Elf come in here and cause some head 'splodiness to save me from said axe, please? Thank you.

**ForeverFaramir – **I completely understand. College got a little crazy and I haven't had time to write. Soon…hmm, "soon" is such a relative term…just ask little Eldarion. Sure, FF, Faramir will be along "soon"…not necessarily _Man_-soon, of course…more like _Elf_-soon…but soon is soon, isn't it? Heh. And I will have you know that I immune to all glariness. Too much time spent in the crossfire of Legolas and Gimli will do that to a person. ;)

**EastCoastie –** Background, heck, he's fallen off the face of the story! lol Just think of his role here as akin to Arwen's in the books. He'll be along…eventually. But until then, he just gets to be the underlying motivation for certain characters and events. So really, he has a decent-sized part…it just happens to be an _off-screen _part. And totally forgiven on the late review! Am I forgiven for the late update? Hee. P.S. Hawkeye rocks, as does MASH ;) And you plug me on your profile! Eeee:D

_Anyway, immensely sorry about that. Finals really did eat me. I mean it. Fortunately, being a Boba Fett fan, I can find my way out of any stomach eventually. But I'm afraid I have potentially bad news…well, for you. Good news for me. I go home today—leaving in about an hour, actually, so apologies for typos, I wanted to get this out first. So we are now going on Summer Possible Hiatus. That means, basically, I have_ **no idea**_how much writing I will or will not get done over the summer. There could be two updates a week. There could be two updates a month. There could be two updates the entire summer. There could even be none. I have no idea_ whatsoever_. So I don't want to promise anything, because odds are I'll be totally wrong. So, I'm very sorry about that…you can check my homepage for updates, I guess, on story-progress should there be any…I'll try and remember to do that. And at the latest, I'll be back midway through September when Sophomore year starts. Again, many apologies for all this…but at least I didn't leave you with a_ horrible evil cliff-hanger _or anything like that…! ;)_


	12. Over the Wall

_Two updates in as many days, has the world come to an end? (Wait, I did get _Shadows Creeping _in before midnight, didn't I…? Oh well, close enough.) No, actually I was just waiting to update until I could do both. Less cd-burning and transferring trouble when I do a two-for-one deal._

_Anyway, I hope everyone's really enjoying their summers, whether they still get summer vacation or not. I've been working a bit more than I anticipated, which is part of the reason why I haven't gotten to update like I hoped to, but it's Renaissance Faire season now, and I just got new chapters posted, so life just couldn't be better! Here's to hoping you're all having as much or more fun than I am:)_

_I know some people who aren't…so let's check in on that wonderful vacation paradise known as Ostad, shall we…?_

_

* * *

_

Chapter Twelve

The warren-like maze of half-fallen buildings and dusty tents seemed much the same street after street. The sky was visible only as a thin slit of pale, washed-out blue overhead. Mallor did not know how anyone could keep their bearings in the confusion of the Outer City, but he followed his king and the Elves without hesitation.

Suddenly Legolas cried out softly and stopped. Elladan, with the reflexes of the Elves, was far less than a second behind in abruptly ceasing his pace as well. Aragorn stumbled slightly into Elladan, but the king was far too quick on his feet—not to mention used to Elves—to fall even without his foster-brother's aid. With Elladan steadying him, the king still managed to catch Éowyn and slow her rush as well. Mallor was not so fast, and his headlong sprint did not end until it slammed full into Gimli. Their feet tangled in their cloaks, and they rolled to a stop. Swift hands flew out and snatched at the Dwarf; the prince held tightly to Gimli's arm to stop his tumble. Elladan, with his hands still full of Aragorn, and the king, with his own helping the Lady Éowyn, had no time to catch the Ranger. Skidding on the duty road, Mallor found he had tumbled just around the edge of the corner the Elves had so unexpectedly stopped at.

He was yanked back around the decrepit building before he had fully ceased moving, and was hauled to his feet. But it was too late; the guards gathering down the street had seen him. Whether they knew what they had seen was irrelevant; they knew there was a disturbance in the city, and they had just seen something strange. They were coming to investigate.

Mallor remembered few details of the ensuing chase. The Ranger had always considered himself swift of foot, but he was struggling to keep up with the leaders. Suddenly Mallor remembered that King Elessar had been named "Wingfoot" by King Éomer during the dark days of the War of the Ring. It was, he decided, a fitting name. Legolas and Gimli had also been of the Three Hunters who had made that famous chase across the plains of Rohan, and both Elves seemed to be tireless. The Lady Éowyn did not slow either, and although Mallor was not the only one cautiously watching her stamina, he saw no sign of stumbling in her feet or eyes.

They sprinted onwards through the dusty streets for hours uncountable. They met no others, but Mallor could hear the sounds of soldiers running or people conversing only a street away at times. Without the keen ears of the Elves, they would have long ago been caught. It seemed that they had no more turned down a street but one of the Elves would bolt down another road to avoid the enemy, and they would all follow as quickly as they could run. The Ranger worried for his wounded king, but knew that they could not afford to pause and deal with the arrow and blood. One hesitation, and the enemy would be upon them.

He did not know if they ran with any plan in mind, or if the Elves were simply focused on keeping them away from their pursuers. He thought vaguely that it seemed they were gradually heading further away from the Outer Wall, but he could not be sure in the maze of decrepit buildings and billowing dust. He wondered if the others noticed, or if they were too concentrated on listening for the enemy to pay attention to the direction in which they traveled? Mallor wished that they had had time to speak, but it was all he could do to keep up the grueling pace headlong through the tattered streets.

And he wondered why Rhìmbron was not with them.

But he did not wish to think of that.

……..

Suddenly, there was a dusty, once-white wall of stone before them. The ramshackle, half-fallen buildings of rotten wood and tattered cloth were strangely juxtaposed next to the relic of older times, like growths of mold on once-clean rock. It was a jarring sight to the companions, used as they were by now to the decrepit tent city through which they ran.

Turning from the pitted stone in front of them, they started to look for another path when Legolas suddenly stopped them. "They are coming!" he hissed, staring at the empty streets. Elladan stepped forward and lifted his sword, hearing the distant sounds of many booted feet and jingling weapons. The Elves' eyes met for a moment. Then Legolas seemed to sigh and he nodded. "Quickly," he instructed the others reluctantly, "over the wall!"

The Elf sprinted to the wall and leapt up it. It was a beautiful jump, so graceful that it seemed more that he had naturally decided to fly than that he had expended any effort to launch himself from the earth. He landed lightly on the top of the wall, expertly balancing himself on the crumbling stone. A few dirty white pebbles shifted, but he had landed so softly that it hardly seemed he had connected with the wall at all. He instantly flattened himself along the top of the wall and peered over. The slightest tension in his shoulders vanished as he saw the flat surface in front of him. The streets directly on the other side of the wall were devoid of people.

"It is safe to cross here," he whispered to the others below him.

"Mallor," Aragorn spoke quietly, no more than a word and a nod necessary to explain his desires to the Ranger. He nodded and sheathed his sword, moving to the wall. He formed a cup of his hands and knelt expectantly. "Éowyn," Aragorn commanded.

The woman wasted no time arguing, but accepted Mallor's boost. Legolas caught her wrists and hauled her to the top of the wall. Some dislodged pebbles rained down making small patters like waterless raindrops in the dust. He steadied the woman, but the wall was large enough that she could maintain her balance on it without his aid.

Motioning for her to wait, the Elf dropped from the wall to land in the Old City. Éowyn watched, and after a moment she followed. Legolas was back atop the wall a second later, nimbly silent on the crumbling stone.

"Gimli," Aragorn hissed in a tone of command. The Dwarf scowled, but Aragorn met his eyes without flinching. "Now," he ordered, moving towards the wall with the Dwarf. Gimli scowled at both the men and leapt, ignoring their offer of aid. Legolas dived forward, almost topping from the wall, and caught his friend's hands. Mallor and Aragorn quickly pushed the Dwarf upwards by the boots, and together they managed to set him high enough that he could get a grip on the top of the wall. He hauled himself onto it, trying and failing to shake off Legolas's assistance, and spent a moment to scowl at the Elf and Men before dropping heavily to the other side.

Legolas sighed and Aragorn hid a smile before the king crouched and nodded for Mallor to go next. "My lord," the Ranger protested, "you should go first. You are injured, and you life infinitely more important—"

"And with my injured shoulder I will need both you and Legolas to haul me onto the wall," Aragorn cut him off sensibly. He extended his cupped hands. "Now jump, Mallor."

The Ranger frowned, but did as his king commanded, trying to put as little of his weight on the other's hands as he could. Aragorn anticipated his reluctance, and half-rose to give the man the boost he would need to reach the Elf's waiting hands. As soon as Mallor was settled on the wall, Aragorn leaped. The Elf and Ranger caught his hands and he tried not to wince as his skin tore against the arrow. Blood dripped down his chest, and he hoped that it would not pool on the ground and give away their trail.

Then he was balanced on the stone. Mallor leaped down, rolling as he landed to avoid injury. The wall was almost too tall for them to leap, even with Elven assistance; had it been properly cared for they would not have been able to do so at all. Fortunately, in spots the inner wall was less than perfectly maintained. The wear and tear of years and use had taken their toll, and as the wall was no longer the city's outer defense, it was not cared for as well as it might have been, and they had been able to find a spot where much of the top had crumbled away. It made for difficult balancing on the broken, age-cracked stone, but it meant that they could cross into the Old City unhindered.

Aragorn paused before he jumped, and turned back to Elladan, who had not moved. "Hurry!" he whispered to the Elf.

Elladan shook his head. "I will lead them away, so that they do not think to follow us into the other part of the city. When I have brought them far enough, I shall leave their awareness. I will either come find you or, if that does not seem feasible without bringing risk upon you, I shall wait outside the city for your escape."

"Elladan," Aragorn frowned, but the Elf ignored him and, with a grin and a half-bow, ran nimbly down a small side street and out of sight. Aragorn sighed. He knew that the Elf was right, and their escape would prove short-lived if their trail ended at the Inner Wall, but just because something was necessary did not mean that he liked it.

Arwen would kill him if he got her brother hurt.

……..

Arwen sighed and rubbed at her temples. She had cancelled everything this week that she possibly could, citing the king's "ill-health" as the reason. She did not like deception, even when it was well intended and necessary. That the deceived should be their own subjects and councilors made things all the worse. When you could not even trust Gondorians…!

But that thought was unfair and more a product of stress than reality. Gondor was still true and noble, and they dearly loved their king. But there were those within the city who felt differently. Arwen hoped that they were none of them citizens of Gondor, but she had learned not to trust to that. Not all Men were as honorable as most, and those that were not gave more trouble than she would have thought possible years ago. Now they had to "play politics," as Faramir put it, and walk a fine line with their words. Who would have thought that peace could prove difficult after the darkness was banished?

She shook her head to banish her dreary thoughts. The day was over at last, and she was free of the constraints of state. Her only duty this night was to keep up the pretense of her lord's illness.

……..

Aragorn glared at Legolas; he was not so injured that he had required the Elf helping to brace him when they landed on the other side of the wall. Before he could reprimand Legolas, however, Éowyn had spun him around roughly and started inspecting the arrow in his shoulder. He tried to protest, but the glower he received from the woman was enough to silence his words.

"My lord, we cannot walk inconspicuously through the city while you have an arrow imbedded in your arm and are trailing blood behind you," she pointed out. Aragorn sighed; she was right, but they did not have the time to tend to it.

"Break off the shaft and bind the wound," he commanded. "I will see to it later, when we have a safe moment to rest."

"My lord—" Éowyn started to object, but he shook his head firmly.

"We have not the time now. Break the shaft and bind it tightly," the king said firmly.

Éowyn scowled, but wrapped a hand around the shaft. "Brace yourself, my lord," she whispered apologetically. Aragorn nodded; it would not be a painless experience. He closed his eyes—then opened them when Éowyn removed her hand.

"Perhaps if the shaft were to be cut, rather than broken by hand?" Legolas offered, holding out a sharp, white Elvish knife with a small smile.

"Oh," said Aragorn. "Well, yes, that would be another option…"

The Elf nodded, keeping a more-or-less straight face. Éowyn stepped back out of his way and began searching through her pack for suitable bandaging. Legolas firmly grasped the arrow's shaft and smoothly sliced it just above the leather jerkin it had pierced. The Elvish knife was sharp and swift enough that Aragorn hardly felt the change. Then Éowyn was there, tying strips of cloth around the wound. Aragorn flinched but made no other sign of his discomfort until she was done. Wincing, he rubbed at his shoulder gingerly—careful not to touch the slightly protruding arrow—and smiled thinly.

"Thank you, friends," the man said dryly. Éowyn shook her head and swiftly threw her pack back around her shoulders. Legolas half-bowed and hid a smile. _Elves_, Aragorn thought with a fond grin of feigned annoyance. _They never change._

Legolas used another scrap of bandage to wrap the bloody remains of the arrow, which he stowed in his quiver. Aragorn smiled. Apparently, some of his endlessly repeated lessons about not leaving a trail for your enemies to follow had been taken to heart.

Éowyn paused as she re-adjusted the pack and glanced meaningfully at the cut oozing blood across his cheek, but Aragorn shook his head. "We have not the time to care for all our scratches; it will not show beneath my hood." Éowyn frowned, but stayed silent.

Aragorn at last looked around himself as they moved to set off again; this was a far cry from the ragged, rough hovels of the outer half of the city.

When they had dropped over the side of the Inner Wall into the Old City, it was as if they had dropped into a different world. The sense of danger and pursuit was gone, and the buildings no longer threatened to suddenly tumble and smother them beneath rotten boards and dirt-encrusted cloths. The stones beneath their feet were crumbling and cracked and stained with dirt and time, but it was a great change from the plain dust they left behind. While the air was still hazy from dust that blew and seeped through and over the Inner Wall, it was clearer and their footsteps left no clouds behind them.

Of course, everything has a drawback. While it was now easier to breathe, visibility was increased, which meant that they had to be doubly on their guard. The streets were wider and exposed to more sunlight, and they stretched further without twisting. This part of the city had been laid out with forethought rather than simply growing like an untended garden, and while that made navigating it easier, it offered greater danger of discovery to the companions.

Casting their hoods over their faces, they did their best to avoid people. The dust that coated them proved helpful, for looking like refuse that had somehow crept in from New City made them less than welcome without being precisely ill-tolerated. Rather, eyes were averted and they were all but ignored. There were no searching glances, for those who saw them quickly turned away as if the dust that marked the distinctions between the two different social standings was contagious.

Sometimes being a pariah could be helpful.

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Lil Pippin Padfoot – **Crazy crazy crazy! Normal and sane people frighten me… You're welcome, and yeah, sorry about the great gaps. Faramir…heh. (Yeah, I just did that to freak you out…sorry, I'm evil, I know.)

**Deana – "**Injured?" Rhys replies innocently. "Now who_ever _said dear _Legolas _was _injured?_" She giggles and grins slyly. "_I _certainly never said he was _injured_…_did_ I?"

**Slayer3 – **Well, I'm glad you've seen it now. However, I have to say the arrows are much cooler. I don't know why, maybe because I suck so badly at archery. Then again, as I found out at the Ren Faire yesterday, I suck pretty bad with swords, too…

**lindahoyland – **Time will tell, time will tell…and thank you muchly! Swordfights fun. :)

**Laiquendi – **BwahahaEH? Nutella? Alas, my precious! Innocent pondering, hey, I thought that was _my _things this time around! Oh well, I guess you can innocently ponder the fiery fate of the nutella if I can innocently ponder why you all seem to think Legolas is hurt…?

**Avalon Estel – **Who, me? Impossible situation. Would I do something like that? Oh darn, I would, wouldn't I… Sneaky sneaky Elves and Rangers, eh? And people always think they're so aboveboard and everything…ha! Gimli, for one, could have told them better. But don't worry, Éowyn will get her moments to shine just like that.

**Jebb – **Right, let me just turn down the heat on the stove and remove head from pot… Ah, that's better. Ah, that must be why everyone thinks Legolas is hurt…they're just anticipating the axe-whacking the Dwarf has in store for him! I get it now, thanks. Heh, yes, Elladan moment forthcoming…heh heh heh…er, I mean, um, yes…la la la, look at me, I'm so innocent and certainly not plotting anything…la la la…

**Aranna – **Nope, poor old Rhìmbron just wasn't used to fighting with legends. Of course, I bet I'd be doing about the same thing if I ever got the chance to see any of 'em for real, so I shouldn't be too hard on the poor guy…although it's a bit late for that, now. Hmm…oh well! Ah yes, the beautiful, terrible wrath of the Eldar…man I wish they'd been in the movie…_sigh…_ Sheesh, are you even starting summer break _now? _Ugh. Hope all that went well. And thanks, finals went off great, especially the one where I got to light my project on fire and watch it burn away…that was pretty. Fire…mmm…so pretty… But you want cliffie? I can _give _you _cliffie_…mwahahaha. ;)

**East Coastie – **Well, I'm burnt like a lobster because I was too dumb to remember to put sunscreen on the shoulders and lack-of-bosom that hadn't seen any sun since last Ren Faire, so I guess that means I'm having fun, right? ;) Hee, I love Ren Faire. Can't wait for labor day, it's Children's Fantasy so I get to wear Elf ears:D And luckily for all, the old man did manage to get the tractor beam out of commission (although not before a horrible evil what-were-you-thinking Nuzgûl-Rancor crossbreed savaged my ankle). As for saving our Gondorians, well, I'm gonna leave that up to a certain Elf, Dwarf, and Legendary Warrior Woman. 'Fraid my fighting leave a lot to be desired… ;)

**Cosmic Castaway – **Yep, but fortunately I give indigestion so it pulled an Artoo and spat me back out again. Hee hee hee hee hee. Gee, I'm so glad you're enjoying this…hee hee hee hee hee…Ai, I do love it when my life is threatened…then I know I'm doing my job properly… Thanks:)

And that's all this time. I hope to have more done soon, but we'll see how much time I can scrape up. Enjoy the rest of your summer until I see you again, and as always, I so very much appreciate your continued interest in this perpetually-late story. Give yourselves a pat on the back, you deserve it—and my thanks and apologies. Namarïe…until our next meeting. ;)


	13. Avoiding Attention When Everyone Argues

_Hello again all, and terribly sorry for all the delays. I hope school started off well for those of you still participating, and for the rest, that Fall has begun nicely and that nobody got caught in any hurricane-of-doomness. If you've peeked at my homepage lately, you know _why _there haven't been any updates. If you haven't, wait 'til the end of the chapter and I'll tell you then! Anyway, enjoy the long-overdue…_

Chapter Thirteen

Gimli was less than thrilled at their new arrangement. He found himself surrounded by the Elf, king, woman and Ranger as they walked as surreptitiously as possible through the dirty marble of the crumbling, aged city. While the Dwarf had his cloak of Lórien—given him by the gracious Lady Galadriel 'ere she had departed Middle-earth—wrapped securely around his person, he was still a Dwarf. And Dwarves, apparently, were not common visitors to this shabby city. The state of the stonework alone—ill-make, he thought it, and iller-repair was it in—would have told Gimli that had he thought to question it. But he knew that no Dwarf had been here for many long years at the least, and personally he doubted if any had ever come. To be the first Dwarf to visit Ostad in at least an Age might not be a matter in which to take pride, but it would still be quite a thing—

And the last thing they needed right now was attention. And so, rather than walking guard around the fair Lady of Ithilien, they were surrounding Gimli to keep his shorter stature from drawing unfriendly eyes. Their shabby-looking cloaks (although Gimli would never have thought such a thing about any gift of the Lady, the cloaks of Lórien had collected a fair amount of dust, and further the fabric was very good at blending to its surroundings, and thus gave here the appearance of shabbiness) and New City dirt was enough to prevent anyone from looking at them hard, but all it would take was one curious thought to draw the guard. They had just finished a desperate sprint, and while Gimli would not have admitted it, especially in the company of Legolas, he was not in the mood to look forward to another race of such speed in the near future.

Thus, his grumbles had been limited to a stern glare at Legolas every so often. At least the flighty Elf had enough sense about him to keep his blasted hood up and over both face and ears. And fortunately, Gimli was here to watch over the capricious creature and see that he did not get distracted by—by the clouds, or a stray scent of trees, or something of that sort. There was no one like a Dwarf to keep one grounded, and when traveling with an Elf it was highly necessary to have someone to perform that task.

Gimli took his task very seriously, and every time Legolas looked for an instant as if he were about to be distracted there was a Dwarven glower and _harrumph_ to draw the foolish princeling back to the matter at hand.

"Gimli," Legolas murmured quietly, "if your throat is so dry as to affect you so poorly, I am sure that I could convince Aragorn to stop a moment that you may wet it. We would never want to push Dwarven endurance too far, after all, and we know how fragile a thing it is."

"The Elves would know of fragile, frail things that they are," Gimli whispered in reply, "but come, Legolas, if you need a rest, all you need do is ask for one. There is no need to invent excuse, when all here are used to compensating for Elvish weakn—"

"Enough!" hissed Aragorn vehemently. "We do not need you two bickering now on top of our other difficulties!" They subsided, but Legolas gave Gimli a glare that said he would eagerly resume this discussion of Elvish "weaknesses" at a later date.

Aragorn sighed and resisted the urge to bash his head repeatedly on the pale stone building at his side. He knew that the two friends' banter was merely their own personal way of expressing concern for one another and relieving tension, but sometimes he found it hard to deal with. He had long since given up attempting to comprehend them, but even still they sometimes pushed his nerves too far—and right now, Aragorn's nerves were on the frayed side.

He remembered once at a meeting to debate—what was it they were discussing again? Ah, yes, they had been trying to figure out how best to deal with Minas Morgul, once Minas Ithil, and somehow Gimli and Legolas had begun arguing about something. Eventually, to prevent the entire conference from degenerating in chaos, the king had been forced to banish the Elf and Dwarf from the room and the discussion. It had been long before they had allowed him to forget _that _particular action. Aragorn smiled slightly, remembering how thoroughly he had been paid back.

Then he sighed and shook his head, and smiled again. He did not know how those two did it, but somehow they had lessened Aragorn's tension as well as their own. He did not comprehend it, but he was not about to complain. Right now, he needed all the calming influence—well, perhaps _calming _was the wrong word. It would have been better to say that he needed all the _casual irreverence _those two could bring to drive the anxiety from the situation. And it had worked, somehow; and Aragorn was grateful.

Then he felt the unmistakable sensation of Elvish eyes boring into him, and turned to meet Legolas's strong stare. The king raised his eyebrows in a silent question, not wishing to draw the attention that speaking verbally might cause. Gleaming eyes drew his own gaze to the Lady Éowyn, and for a moment Aragorn was puzzled.

She looked as pale and fair—and as fierce—as ever. Her white face was set sternly beneath the shadows of the hood that hid her golden hair but she showed no signs of injury or fatigue as she walked calmly through the streets even paler, though no less dust-coated, than she was.

Aragorn looked back at Legolas, confusion plain on his face. The Elf mouthed one word, _Faramir_. Understanding hit the king like a siege engine and he groaned aloud at his obtuseness. How would he feel were Arwen captured? His blood ran chill at the very thought and memory, and he cursed himself for an oblivious fool. Aragorn reached across and lightly caught Éowyn's arm.

She turned to him, eyebrows raised in question—and in defiance; whatever he was planning in order to "protect" her, her eyes spoke plainly, he had best rethink, for she was in no mood for such coddling. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word Legolas had practically lunged across Gimli to catch the king's shoulder. The Elf nearly shoved both king and lady down a side-street while Gimli and Mallor hurried after them.

Aragorn opened his mouth again, this time with a question on his tongue rather than reassurance, but again the Elf interrupted his words. "There is a patrol of guards. They are grumbling, I believe about the pointlessness of searching the Old City for interlopers, although I did not hear their words clearly enough to be certain. Either way, we cannot risk it."

Aragorn nodded, but once more could not speak, although this time it was Éowyn who cut him off. "We ought to make for the richer parts of the city; they are far less likely to search among the elite for shabby intruders than they are among those who have less power with which to protest the indignity."

Again, the king nodded agreement, but again his mouth was opened for no reason; Gimli spoke first. "But in the more elegant parts of the city, will there not be more guards to avoid rather than less? Is that not why we were staying to the smaller streets and alleys?"

Aragorn should have known better than to try to beat Legolas to responding to the Dwarf, but apparently he had yet to learn that lesson. Once more, the king's mouth opened and shut soundlessly as the Elf raised an eyebrow at his shorter friend. "Yet will not the guards know this as well as we? If they are searching for us, they are far more likely to look in the smaller streets and alleys than in the middle of the markets or at the doors of their lords' homes."

Gimli grumbled, unable to refute the logic but not wishing to agree with the Elf. At last, Aragorn opened his mouth, ready to speak; those three were now in agreement about their course of action, and none of them looked ready to offer further comments. Mallor, at least, was not going to interrupt his liege—

"Most likely they will have a perimeter, however, to prevent us from straying into the inner parts of the city while they search, in case they drive us out of hiding," the Ranger mused.

Aragorn opened his mouth in one last attempt—and the Elf spoke. "Then we shall have to make certain that we are hidden better than they search," Legolas said calmly.

The others nodded agreement, and Aragorn once more prepared to speak. The Elf abruptly leaned out of the alley and scanned the streets, now half-deserted as the noon-hour drew near. "Come," he whispered urgently, and they followed obediently. Shaking his head, Aragorn decided that he should have given up a while ago, and, smiling ruefully, trailed the others through the decayed marble streets of the Old City.

……..

Legolas leaned slowly around the corner, careful to keep his hood low to cover his Elven features. He silently thanked the Lady of the Golden Wood once more for the gift of their cloaks; in the fading light of growing evening, when mortal eyes are dimmed by the mix of sun and shade, he was all but invisible to sight as long as he did not move. Granted, were he in a forest or field the Elvish weaving would have hidden him far better, but even against cold once-white marble he was a faint shadow in the twilight.

That faint shadow scanned the streets with sharp eyes, then drew back to join his companions as they huddled in the darkness or an empty doorway. He could see weariness in the face of the Lady Éowyn, although she disguised it well. The Ranger, Mallor, also showed signs that the chase was telling, although the hardy Dúnadan would go many hours more 'ere he would have ever admitted it. Aragorn and Gimli, the other two of the Three Hunters, had endured a far harsher race, but even they would not have been adverse to a space of rest, Legolas judged. His own steps were still light and unwearied, but his heart was heavy enough to make up for that. He feared for Elladan and what the other Elf might be in danger of. He worried for Rhimbrón and prayed that the Man would live. He thought of Faramir and the others that had gone with him, and hoped that they were still alive. And then there was the Lady Éowyn…

Legolas shook his head, returning his thoughts to the necessary moment as he rejoined his friends. "The streets are empty," he hissed quietly. "There are none about as far as I can see."

"Most like they are accustomed to using this hour for their evening meal," Aragorn mused. "Come, we must make the best use of what time and solitude we have. No doubt guards still prowl, and not everyone is at table, yet the less people on the streets the less chance we have of being discovered."

"Yet we must be even more cautious," Gimli warned. "With less traffic on the streets it shall be harder to notice ahead those few that remain about."

Legolas arched an eyebrow haughtily and stared down his nose at his friend. "Do you doubt the superior senses of the Elves?" he inquired coolly. "Or have you perhaps forgotten that we need not rely only on the skills of our out of practice former-Ranger king?"

Gimli snorted and made to reply, but Aragorn stepped between them. "Peace!" he whispered harshly, taking care to spear both Legolas and Gimli with a sharp glare. When the Man turned to look at the Dwarf, Legolas rolled his eyes, making Gimli snicker. Aragorn turned back, but the prince had schooled his features into perfect innocence. Aragorn sighed and shook his head.

"Enough, friends, I pray," the king said tiredly. "While you two might well be able to go on all day, I would fain have reprieve from your endless banter. Come; we cannot slip out in secret this night. We must find somewhere in which to secret ourselves from discovery."

Legolas nodded seriously and started to speak, but at a hiss from Mallor, who had been watching the end of the alley, froze. The Elf cursed then clamped a hand over his mouth; fortunately Éowyn spoke no Sindarin, but still, to curse in the presence of the Lady—he had been spending too much time among mortals. Especially Dwarves. Aragorn and Gimli snorted; they both easily recognized the muttered words. Legolas blushed slightly but turned his attention to Mallor. "I hear them," he said before the Ranger could speak. "Come!"

The Elf sprinted off in the direction opposite that from which the noises had originated. Gimli, running beside him, shot an amused glance up at his taller friend.

"The superior senses of the Elves?" he muttered with a grin.

Legolas glared. "I would have heard them if you had not been distracting me," he retorted sharply.

Aragorn snickered. "Well, we certainly both heard _you_," he whispered. "And in the presence of a lady…" the Ranger _tsk_ed and shook his head.

Legolas's blush deepened and he searched for a reply but was interrupted before he could frame a suitable response.

"Hush, all of you," Éowyn commanded. "We have not the time." All three cast her a contrite glance, like little children caught in the act of immaturity. Éowyn sighed and rolled her eyes. "Males," she muttered dryly. They were _all _hopeless.

……..

Gimli turned as much of his attention away from the ground and his feet as he dared at this speed and watched the Elf. No one else might have noticed it, but Gimli knew something was wrong. Legolas was hard to distract, this he knew from experience, both of his own attempts and those of others. Under their current circumstances, nothing less than an appearance by one of the Valar (_or those blasted gulls!_) would have drawn the Elf's attention enough for the Ranger, Mallor, to hear the approaching enemy before the Elf did—and they were nowhere near the Sea. Gimli knew that something was wrong, although he did not know what.

So he watched.

Thus Gimli was aware before the others that Legolas had heard something and, due to how well Elf and Dwarf could read each other's features, Gimli knew his plans 'ere he spoke. It was with considerable surprise that the rest of the companions turned to the Dwarf when he abruptly signaled to the side with a hurried "there!"

Before questions could leave their lips, Legolas was agreeing. "Perfect, Gimli! Haste!" he commanded the others, all but dragging Éowyn into the alcove the Dwarf, with his keen eye for stone, had spotted in the dusty marble.

Confusion on their faces, the three humans followed the Elf and Dwarf through the archway. Gimli swore when they were stopped by a locked gate a few feet within the opening, but when he caught the Elf's eyes Legolas just shrugged; it would have to be enough. Then he grinned, promising to later tease the Dwarf for the misjudgment—but there was not time now.

Aragorn pressed Éowyn and Mallor against the gate with the other three between them and sight of the street. Both looked about to protest—Mallor no doubt dutifully as it was his role to protect the king, and Éowyn angrily for she needed no protection. Aragorn silenced them both before they spoke. "Lórien cloaks," he hissed, indicating the soft grey that garbed the former Fellowship of the Ring.

Then there was no more time for words, for even Gimli could hear the sounds of an approaching troop of guards. He glanced at Legolas; the Elf was tense but his hands were empty, so Gimli relaxed his grip on his axe—a little. The Dwarf would trust his friend's sharper senses (although of course he would never admit to either their being sharper or to trusting them) and assume that while there was indeed risk to their position they were not about to be discovered save through unhappy chance—

Legolas sighed slightly and Gimli was sure that he saw the Elf discreetly steady himself against the wall of the short tunnel they were in. Then Legolas blinked and it almost seemed as if the momentary flicker had been imagined. Gimli peered at his friend sharply but his face was too shadowed for the Dwarf to gauge its pallor.

He caught the Elf's eye and silently demanded an explanation but Legolas pretended—Gimli was sure he was pretending; they had exchanged far more complicated discussions wordlessly—pretended not to understand.

Gimli was about to verbally insist upon an answer but was forced silent as the patrol of guards trooped slowly past. The Dwarf held his breath, offering both prayer and thanks for the gracious Lady's Elvish cloaks. Without them, no shadow would have hidden the companions from the eyes of the soldiers even in the fading light of dusk.

With them…with them, they had a chance. With luck, it would be enough…

* * *

**Reviewer Responses:**

**Slayer3 – **deepest sympathies on the movie-bit. :( Now, what's this about a Nazgûl cloak and fellbeast…? That must be one big closet. What do you feed that thing, anyway? And…just _why _would you have one? _Rhys asked suspiciously, thinking, my Spider Sense isn't so much tingling as it is dancing a jig._

**Laiquendi – **Oh dear, I hope you didn't hit your head on the way down…would you like some smelling salts? Yes, yes, just the puny mortals, of course my dear, of _course… _You just cancel that lynch-mob, thanks. Remember, lynching delays updates!

**Deana – **Qui? Our little Elf-Prince? Hide an injury? Naaaaaah…

**lindahoyland – **Thank you! I'm so glad I can suck you in and slowly drain your soul—I mean, so glad I can intrigue you! Thanks very much.

**Jebb – **Terribly sorry to cause any desperation…oh wait, no I'm not, I live for things like that, I forgot! Tee hee! I bet Gimli would get the Gold Medal every Olympic Games, too. He's a master Elf-basher. Nice summary, by the way! If anyone's lost as to what's going on, check Jebb's last review:)

**Lil Pippin Padfoot – **Hee hee, aw, I'm sorry, am I not being cool? Heh heh heh. Remember, precious, I _am _evil! Eeek, dad tried to fix computer? I'm so very, very sorry. I hope it's alive again?

**Aranna – **_So _glad you like my detail-obsessions! You get a hug for that: _hug! _However, _why _can't we have everything, or at least Eldar? Hope your holiday was absolutely smashingly fun! And just take sculpture, then you can burn things and get graded for doing so. But my dear Aranna, what _do _you mean you don't like cliffies? _Every_one likes _cliffies! _I know _I _do…at least, when I'm the author I do! I stick my tongue out right back at you! Nyah-na-na! ;P

**EastCoastie1500 – **Happy Update Dance time! Ah, sunburning, yes…aloe vera is a great, great friend… So glad you're loving the story! And your socks, too.

Anyway, as usual, let me apologize for making you all wait so long. I had a good reason this time, though! See, my friend and I got the brilliant idea that it'd be fun to create a webcomic…so we did! She's writing and I'm drawing, and while it's about relatively "real" life rather than fun and fascinating fantasy, it means I get to mock normal people and play with Photoshop, so it's all good! The comic, at least, should update on schedule, mainly because it takes less time to scribble a strip than to work out a chapter, as well as because we poke and prod each other to keep ourselves on task. Anyway, if you want to check it out, you can find the comic at MundaneNirvana http / mundanenirvanaDOTcomicgenesisDOTcom

I promise, now that I've dealt with all the headache involved in getting it started up and posting, I'll find more time to write and you hopefully won't have to wait so long. Do my best, really, I _promise!_

So…no angry lynch mobs, right? …_Right? _Eeeeep…


	14. Stealth and Secrecy, Dust and Blood

Sorry it's taken so long. I'm trying to come up with two stories for my Scripting class right now and having no luck, and that's been eating all my creative-writing abilities lately. Anyway, Happy Halloween!

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

Evening's shadows were deepening, casting thick darkness in heavy patches where the buildings overhung the dusty stone-paved streets. While the companions could hear the distant sounds of a city slowly settling down for—and in some parts awakening for—the night, the streets they traveled were empty or nearly so. The troop of guards whose presence they had fled were gone, turned down a different road.

The companions had moved quietly through the dusty streets. Three of them were nearly wraiths in cloaks that one minute seemed grey, then next pale white, then the color of the sky itself. The other two, while less ethereal, were nonetheless dusty enough that all five could slide past the old marble buildings like faint, half-seen shades. Stealth and secrecy were what these warriors' lives depended now upon—

But that did not stop any of them from keeping a hand on their blades.

…………

Stealth and secrecy were equally precious in Gondor. In stealth had Aragorn left the White City, and secret was his departure kept. With stealth had they snuck Beregond into the palace and bundled him into Aragorn's bedchamber, and in secret did they now tend to the guard rather than the king.

Elrohir glanced over at the man's sleeping form, swaddled in linen so white that the thin strip illuminated by the last rays of the sun as they spilled across the bed seemed to glow. The Elf sighed and rearranged himself in the chair for the fifteenth time in the past two hours. Elves are known by all for their patience, but Elrohir was not a patient Elf. He resisted the urge to pace although he knew that he would eventually give in. It was a habit inherited from his father and Elrohir had only grown better at it since Elrond had departed into the West, as had his twin. Arwen, who had long seemed to largely escape the nervous walking, looked as if she were starting to pick it up since she had been crowned.

The thought amused Elrohir, although he was mildly saddened that his sister should find a need to pace in the first place. But Elrohir was the eternally optimistic one, not to mention entirely irrepressible, and he focused more on the fact that he could now tease his sister for her new habit than he did upon the reasons behind her acquisition of it.

Right now, had Arwen been in the room and circling nervously he would have teased simply to release his nervous energy. The situation was tense enough as it was: keeping Beregond hidden from the citizens of Gondor while making them think that their king—off on a covert mission at the moment—was really the one lying ill, without worrying them too unduly, and pretending to be both twins so that no one would wonder where Elladan was and why he wasn't here, was more than enough for anyone to deal with.

But on top of all that, Elrohir had a strange unease floating just over his shoulder that he could not determine. He and Elladan had always been close, even for brothers; at times they could tell what the other was thinking down to the syntax of the phrasing of their thoughts. It was uncanny, even for Elves of their bloodline, even for twins. This near-telepathy had come in handy numerous times, both for simple events and more dire circumstances. Right now, their connection was whispering in Elrohir's ear that something was going to go wrong—or perhaps it already had.

The thought hovered unceasingly in the back of his mind and twisted anxiously like ice in his gut. Elrohir only managed to keep from giving in to distraction and riding straight after his brother due to his long experiences. A warrior cannot abandon one battle to race off to another, no matter how much he might desire to. And in Elrohir's opinion, not only was keeping the White City in the dark just as much a battle as Elladan's attempt to overtake the Lady Eowyn and the Lords Legolas and Gimli, it might very well be the more difficult of the two. Certainly it was the more infuriating. At least Elladan was out riding and there was always the possibility that he might be required to draw a sword or at least act important. All Elrohir could do was sit and wait, and that was not a task at which this particular Elf Lord excelled at.

The fact that a strong foreboding was wrapping itself tighter and tighter about his thoughts each moment did nothing to help.

_Elladan, _he thought in a whisper that tried not to sound as worried as he refused to admit he felt, _Valar protect, my brother. _Elrohir had the sinking feeling that Elladan was going to need it.

…………

Far from the bloody trail, past dust and hovels and wide, once-white walls lay the maze-like pathways of the Old City. Built long ago, it was far past its prime, now a crumbling relic of a memory that ought to have fled years past, yet stubbornly clinging to the notion that it was as proud and powerful as the day it was first built from smooth, shining marble and stone.

Many of those that lived in Old City—far better off than their counterparts on the other side of the Wall—were retiring for the night. A few torches were lit, but for the most part the city was dark, slowly falling under night's shadows. The inhabitants were closing shutters and drapes, retiring behind their aging grand doors as they prepared for sleep. Five of those that were doing nothing of the sort did not belong to the Old City, nor indeed to any part of Ostad, although the dust they carried seemed to mark their homes among the shabby tents and shacks that had grown long ago into the collection of hovels dubbed New City. But their homes were far away and scattered; from Gondor they came, and Rohan, from Eriador, _Eryn Lasgallen_, and Rivendell their paths had led.

Yet so far, none knew that but them. They were still secret, yet for how much longer their presence and identity would remain so was unknowable. The city searched for them, these strangers in their midst, the unnamed intruders.

Four of those intruders huddled clumped together as far under the shadows of one of the ancient buildings as they could manage, trying—and, they felt sure, failing—not to look suspicious as they waited. After a few moments, a slim figure almost invisible in the twilight dropped lightly from the roof to land beside them. He quickly pulled his hood back down, hiding pale moonlit hair and sharply pointed ears.

"You were right, Aragorn," the Elf whispered to the taller of the two Men. "They have lit torches and are organizing into a much more methodical search now." He hesitated a moment, a slight anxiety visible on his shadowed face. "They are even spreading the search into the Old City."

Aragorn's face grew grim and he nodded.

"Yet if they know—or at least think they know—that we have not passed their perimeter, why waste the manpower to search the Old City, my lords?" The shorter Ranger asked in a whisper.

The woman answered him with a grimace. "They must cover for all chances, and far better to be overly cautious than sorry later."

"I still feel that we have a better chance of escaping their notice in the Old City," Aragorn maintained in a low voice. "The searchers will no doubt feel as you do, Mallor. Their eyes will not be as keen nor their vigilance so detailed."

"It is true," the Elf confirmed. "I could see them grumbling about the pointlessness of their task as it was assigned."

"And you had to get that close for what precious reason, pray tell, Master Elf?" the shortest companion, a bearded Dwarf cloaked in Elvish grey, demanded with a scowl.

The Elf attempted to send him a supercilious glare but the Dwarf ignored it. "I was sent to observe, was I not? A fine scout would I make if I stayed so far from my target that I could not tell its actions."

"Legolas, Gimli, peace," Aragorn whispered with a frown. "Now is not the time."

Elf and Dwarf exchanged glances that promised one another that their argument was not over yet, but in truth they seemed to carry a perpetual discussion ever with them that was ready to be resumed at any moment. One more pause would make little difference in the ceaseless series of friendly banter and companionable insults.

Aragorn shook his head tiredly. He was not willing to admit that his wound combined with the long chase and lack of sleep was affecting him, but the others noticed a slightly more haggard look in the king's face than was usual, even for Aragorn. He more resembled Strider at his most run-down 'ere the War of the Ring had been fought than he did the miraculously returned King Elessar Telcontar of legend. Yet there was no help for it now; rest was not something currently on anyone's mind, least of all Aragorn's. He had endured much greater hardship than this. The proof of each one was etched in the lines in his face.

And while the king hid it well, his companions could see that this was wearing on him. Elf and Dwarf exchanged another glance, this time one of silent planning rather than promise of friendly retribution. Their method of silent communication had been perfected over the past few years, and now they had it down to an art form—one that Aragorn, in his distracted and tired state, did not notice.

"We ought to go to ground," Gimli suggested. "Find somewhere to hide the night while they search in vain."

Aragorn looked about to object, but he never got the chance. "Is this wisdom from a Dwarf?" Legolas exclaimed in surprise.

"Shocking that an Elf should recognize it, I agree," Gimli retorted quickly.

"Ay," Legolas shot back, "for it is an occurrence so rare one would doubt it were possible."

"I agree that Elves are unobservant creatures, ever watching the stars and filling their ears with mindless singing where they ought to rather look about them or listen, but I am not so uncharitable as to allow that it is impossible for one to notice something."

"Hardly surprising that the Elves find the stars and their own songs preferable things to look at or listen to when the alternative is a Dwarf!"

"Will you two _hush?_" Aragorn hissed at them with a ferocious scowl.

Éowyn, having caught Legolas's surreptitious wink, spoke before the king could continue his lecture. "Perhaps we ought to find somewhere to hide 'ere they bring the entire city's guard down upon our heads," she suggested wryly. Elf and Dwarf did a remarkable job of looking highly insulted.

Aragorn frowned, but Mallor, having caught Gimli's nudge, jumped in next. "We ought to find somewhere that 'twould be thought impossible for us to enter undetected. Perhaps closer to the center of the city?"

"I did see a large structure, almost a citadel, near the city's heart that might suit our purposes," Legolas chimed in, magnanimously choosing to ignore the earlier slight. "'Twould be all but impossible to gain by accepted means of entry."

"Then it is perfect," Éowyn said with satisfaction. "Do you not agree, my lord?" she asked Aragorn, as if wondering why he had not yet spoken.

"Well, yes," the king started to say, "that would be—"

"Then we had best hurry 'ere the flighty prince forgets where he saw it," Gimli said stoutly.

"Fortunately for us all, Elvish memories are not so frail as those of Dw—"

"Peace!" Aragorn hissed again, exasperated. "Let us be off before the two of you turn this into any more of a farce than you already have!" he exclaimed in a whisper before spinning on his heel and starting off at a fast pace. The others followed quickly, apparently not in the least taken aback. That, as well as the fact that both Legolas and Gimli subsided quietly, made Aragorn think that he had played right into their hands.

The King of Gondor had just been manipulated.

He sighed and shook his head. If it had been anyone else he would have been offended or at least surprised at how easily they had strung him along until he was the one to suggest the course of action he had been prepared to argue against…but this _was_ Legolas and Gimli he was dealing with, and aiding them was the Lady Éowyn. And now apparently they had gotten Mallor on their side as well. Trust the Elf and the Dwarf to make everyone dance their tune. While usually more than willing to simply go along with things, when either of them wanted to, they could soon have an entire company of stubborn, battle-scarred soldiers obeying orders that they didn't even have to give.

Aragorn would have loved to blame Thranduil—for the Elven King to be responsible for the ease with which Aragorn found himself outmaneuvered would have been quite acceptable; Thranduil had, after all, been ruling his lands with no outside aide since the Third Age had begun. He would have loved to blame Thranduil and the diplomatic training the clever king had given his son, but he couldn't. The only ones to blame were Legolas and Gimli and the strange bond that existed between the two. Of course, the fact that they could at times read one another's thoughts almost as well as Elladan and Elrohir could didn't hurt in the least.

A worried frown furrowed the king's brow as he slunk quietly through the dark streets, the others right on his heels. Aragorn hoped his foster-brother was unharmed but knew he could not afford to worry about that now. Right now his priority was to keep Éowyn safe, rescue the prisoners, and get them all out of this cursed city. He would have to trust that Elladan could take care of himself. The Elf had been doing it for three thousand years; he ought to be able to handle another few hours on his own. Or so Aragorn hoped.

He was distracted from his anxious musings by a faint whisper. The sharp-eared Ranger glanced over his shoulder in mild alarm, wondering what was wrong. He relaxed when he saw that it was only Legolas and Gimli apparently continuing an argument of some kind. Those two were completely irrepressible. He glared at them and was rewarded with exceptionally innocent expressions beneath two shadowing hoods. Shaking his head, the king turned around and, a few moments later, heard another faint whisper just at the edge of his hearing.

He could not help but smile despite everything. Conspirers or no, he was glad they were with him.

…………

Elladan slipped and fell. Dust clung to his wet sword as he lurched less-than-gracefully back to his feet. He grimly shook his head, trying to clear the blood from his eyes; wiping them with his hand would only leave it worse, for his hands were as soaked in red as the thin sliver of steel they held. He could feel wetness trickling down the inside of his soft boots and pooling in his gauntlets, but there was nothing he could do now.

If it had not been for that first lucky shot with the arrow—

The Elf had been a blue of motion flashing towards the outskirts of the city, driving his attackers back as much with their fear of him as with his blade's actual bite. But more had continued to come, the guards from other areas of the outer walls abandoning their posts. _Sloppy_, the Elf had thought contemptuously. These men were obviously lacking in discipline. Many of them, however, were not lacking in skill. For an instant, he almost regretted sending Aragorn and Legolas away—but no. Estel must be kept safe. He had promised his sister he would watch over the Man, and he kept his word. Arwen had given up so much for her love of him; Elladan would not see his sister's joy taken so soon.

He redoubled the efforts of his attacks, feeling the guards start to waver before the merciless assault. Then there was a sudden stab of pain, and there was a flash of heat from his right arm, and it went numb. He swiftly transferred his sword to his uninjured hand, fighting as easily with his left as he had with his right. But his balance was off, and his rhythm was lost. He might have recovered from that and emerged with no other injury, but he was distracted enough that he did not notice the last man he felled was not quite dead. There was another stab of pain in his calf, and he looked down in shock to see a dagger embedded in his flesh. A quick slice of his sword and the man was no more, but the tip of another blade just caught his forehead. The warm blood filled his eyes, and the Elf moved completely on instinct.

In an eyeblink he had escaped from the battle, vaulting over a rickety wall, and paused only a moment to remove the dagger from his leg. He had no time to wrap the wound, for already another small group was running towards him from the other direction. A casual flip sent the captured dagger into the throat of an oncoming enemy, then the Elf lifted his sword again. Tightening his grip on his slippery blade, Elladan ran towards the guards, ignoring the protests from his injured calf. One-handed, he carved through them quickly, but by then the those he had left behind were climbing over the wall. Using words he would never have repeated around his sister, the Elf sprinted away from them. He had no time to seek for the direction Estel and Legolas had traveled in, and so he could only hope that he was leading pursuit away from his friends rather than back towards them.

If it had not been for that first arrow shot, he would have been easily able to handle the off-guard, startled men. He cursed his ill-luck, and wondered how he was going to get out of this one. Where was Elrohir when he needed him? Suddenly the Elf tripped, his leg giving way beneath him. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself back to his feet. He could not stop. They would find him.

The red trail he left with every step meant that they would likely find him sooner or later anyway, but the thick twilight combined with the thirsty dust of the road meant that the blood was not as easily seen as it would otherwise be. When morning came, he was lost; they would simply follow the red liquid to him. He needed to get out of the city before then. If he could leave the city, he would be able to escape. Estel would know not to look for him. He would tend his wounds and lie in wait outside the sight of Men, ready to offer help to his companions. Perhaps he could even sneak back in the next night, if they had not left by then. If he could just get out of the city without running into any more trouble before morning, he would be fine.

Elladan turned the corner and saw a small company of armed men. They spun to face him, and the Elf grimly brought his blade up. So much for escaping by morning…

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**Reviewer Responses:**

**Deana – **"finally" is right…and who said _anything _was wrong with the Elf? He tells me he's _just fine…_

**Laiquendi – **Poor Aragorn a second time, don't you think? Heh. He really ought to have given up, really. Er…torchforks and pitches? Oh dear…um…look, a distraction! Shiny! Woo!

**lindahoyland – **a pounding migraine for the king. Asprin, any one? lol

**Jebb – **Oh no, Legolas will be teased about that for_ever, _I'm sure. And who says Éowyn is sane? Look who she hangs out with, after all…

**Lil Pippin Padfoot – **Huzzah for computer-resurrections! And many thanks, as always!

**Slayer3 – **oh, well, I can't argue with that. Good reason. HAPPY BIRTHDAY:D Gimli and Legolas will now sing you a birthday song. Erm, once they stop arguing about what it will be, at least…

**Avalon Estel – **Nooo, my mini-Balrog! Foul kidnapper, restore him to me! Preferably before you lose your hand, but whatever works. And…wow, I really don't know what else to say. What lovely praise! Glerfindle, you behave for the nice lady, you hear me? No burning her!

**East Coastie 1500 – **Yay, a pretty dance! And I may be a big fan of banter. Just possibly. Shh! Don't tell!

**Cosmic Castaway – **Umm….cue innocent whistling? Oh bugger, I forgot, I can't whistle…er, cue innocent look? No violence, no violence! Look, update goodness for Halloween! And thank you—and I'm sorry it isn't finished yet. (looks down guiltily) I have no excuse, I am shamed.

So yeah, sorry, really. I didn't mean for it to disappear again…it just kind of happened. I am shamed. And Happy Halloween; yay costumes and candy!

Crap, I'm late for class. More next update!


	15. The Tallest Structure

_I am really, really**, really** sorry about how long it's been since I updated. I've just been really busy lately and, not much time for writing and...erm...I'll just slink away quietly, shall I? Sorry..._**  
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**Chapter Fifteen**

The pale moon gleamed with an almost Elvish-silver in the ebony sky. Below, the White City glowed with a ghostly reflection. Its heavy marble towers appeared almost ethereal in the faint light. Far above, Arwen's sharp eyes could make out the sparkling diamond that was her _daeradar_'s ship, ever sailing the seas of air.

The queen stared up at the skies through a thin opening in the drapes that had been pulled to close off the royal bedchambers from all sight or sound of Gondor. No unfriendly eye could see the secret contained within the rooms, somehow empty without the king's presence—but of course, none other knew that the king was not contained within. Arwen's fair brow was furrowed slightly as if the now-mortal Elf was troubled with a vague sense of something wrong that all her foresight could not pin down. Her eyes scanned the stars for answers, but she did not expect to find any there—nor anywhere else—but still she could not help but seek, just in case.

A faint sound behind disturbed her reverie and she turned, smiling softly at the groggy figure as Beregond stirred.

"Hush," the Elf-queen whispered when the man would have spoken. He blinked owlishly, looking around the marble bedchamber in confusion. This was not the Halls of Healing and Arwen was certainly not one of the attendants that served there. He stayed silent as his queen had commanded, but he wrestled with restrained questions.

Arwen smiled reassuringly and drew the heavy drapes closed once more. She glided silently to the bandage-wrapped man and placed a cool hand on his forehead. "Your fever is all but gone, valiant Beregond," she spoke quietly, her voice a low and soothing murmur that did nothing to answer the man's questions. The Elf-queen lifted a small bowl of athelas-steeped water, cool now but still smelling potently of the refreshing herb, and sat gracefully in a carved chair next to the wide bed. She lifted a soft cloth from the water and began to gently bathe the man's face.

"My lady," he tried to protest; the queen's hands should not be used for such a task. Arwen sent him an imperious look, one carrying all the authority that flowed through her family but which she so rarely used herself. With a single slim eyebrow she reminded the soldier that while she was indeed Queen of Gondor she was a Healer's daughter first and foremost, and—for that matter—she _was _Queen of Gondor. She would do as she would, and right now what she would was heal. Beregond subsided meekly, although it was clear that he was uncomfortable being cared for by a person of such nobility as the Queen Evenstar.

"My lady, I beg you—" he burst out at last, unable to restrain his curiosity.

Arwen smiled. "Hush, Beregond. Lie still and I shall seek to answer what questions that I may to put your mind at ease. Now, peace." Obeying her command, the soldier lay back upon the pillows as calmly as he could but in his eyes worry danced wildly hand and hand with confusion.

"You have been resting since you first were brought in near death by my brothers. Upon learning what you had to tell, my lord set out with Elladan and two Rangers of the Dúnedain to ride to Prince Faramir's assistance." Arwen discreetly decided it was best not to mention to the devoted Beregond that the wife of his dear captain might also be in danger, along with Legolas and Gimli, and that Aragorn had gone as much to stop those three as he had to learn Faramir's fate and decide how best to save him. That news could wait until the man was faring better, and until Elrohir was in the room to help prevent him from attempting to throw himself from the bed and ride to their aid. Arwen was quite capable of restraining the wounded man on her own, but the proper soldier would be horrified if, in his distress, he committed such a devastating breach of manners as to force the queen to exert physical strength upon his person to stop him. Much better for her to sit back and let her brother handle that; being a warrior as Bergond was, even though he was an Elf of the royal family, Elrohir could do so without causing the man undue embarrassment.

Beregond relaxed slightly to know that help was riding to his captain, although he seemed much grieved that he would not be among that number. Then he seemed to realize where he was and questioning eyes sought Arwen's kindly grey ones. The Elf smiled at him. "Ay, you do indeed lie in the king's bedchambers, noble Beregond. We did judge that 'twas best to keep news of my lord's journey a secret, and so we say that he is ill and care for you in his stead." Although she attempted to hide it, Arwen could tell that the distaste with the dissembling was visible upon her face and she turned away, ostensibly to replace the bowl of athelas-water upon a side table. When she looked back she had composed herself once more.

Beregond's eyelids were flickering as he fought to keep them open. "Sleep, Beregond," Arwen murmured, placing a soothing hand on the man's warm and bandaged brow. "Your duty has been done, valiant one; there is no need to fear." Giving in to both the hypnotic power of the Elf's soft voice and to the dark throbbing in his own head, the soldier drifted slowly back into a deep slumber.

Arwen sat back with a sigh, her own mask of calm slipping back into worry. She had told Beregond that there was no reason to fear, but the Elf-woman was afraid that she had not spoken truly. She could not say what bothered her, but she knew it was something, a faint shadow tickling at the edge of her awareness—

And, she feared, waiting to sweep down and cover them all in darkness.

Arwen shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The spring night was not cold, yet Gondor's queen felt chilled all the same.

…………

It had been an exceptionally risky series of spurts and pauses, but eventually the companions managed to find their way unobserved to the citadel-like structure Legolas had noticed from the rooftops. It was not large enough to be a citadel, truly, but it seemed to think that it was one. Taller than any other building in Ostad, even if only by a few feet in one or two cases, it seemed nonetheless shrunken. Once it must have been a truly impressive sight, but now it had fallen into decay along with the city it had once stood watch over. While buildings had crept closer to it, both in position and grandeur, it had remained static, slowly aging. Once-white marble was stained and dusty and crumbling where there had formerly been finely carved ornamentation. The reliefs were weather worn and seemed to be slowly melting back into the walls from whence they had sprung. Iron bars and railings were rusty and, in a few places, broken. Bright paint had been aged away, now clinging in a few tattered and faded flecks to doorways and windowsills where the rain did not fall so freely nor the wind blow so hard. There were quite a few gates ringing the once-white bottom of the building, but most of them were either locked or rusted shut. Now, attempting to flit from shadow to shadow out of the circles of torchlight that followed the few patrolling guards that had not been sent to search the city for the intruders, the companions sought a suitable ingress.

Gimli looked upon the tall structure and scoffed. It was nowhere near as elegant a stonework as the lesser buildings of Minas Tirith, and to the eyes of a Dwarf it was shoddy indeed. He could—although never would Gimli have admitted it of anything in this cursed city—see a few finer points in the workmanship, but they too were faded with time and beginning to falter. He sent the so-called citadel a baleful glare and sniffed disdainfully.

Éowyn looked upon the defensively built, strong building and grimaced slightly. Less open to the air even than the lower levels of Minas Tirith, it seemed to the Horse Woman to be a heavy and confining prison. Thick walls with heavy gates and few windows were what met her eyes, and used to the open plains of Rohan or even the freshly built Emyn Arnen, Éowyn could see nothing but constraint and stifling enclosure. It was an old and decaying prison to her eyes, and a small part of her soul longed for the open grasses of her distant birthland.

Mallor looked upon the ancient citadel and frowned. It seemed to have been made in a mockery of Minas Tirith, and while the Dúnadan was from the open forests of the North his home now was in Gondor where, indeed, the hearts of all the Dúnedain had long dwelt in longing. The insolent structure looked to be a poor attempt at competing with the grandeur of his beloved White City, and the Ranger scowled darkly at the farce in front of him.

Aragorn looked upon the pale, faded structure and felt a strange sadness. Here was what Minas Tirith might have fallen to: ruin and despair. This once proud building, though never as proud as those of Gondor, was decaying helplessly, a victim of time. They were all, the king knew, eventually going to be victims of time, just like this fading citadel. Eventually all would crumble, even Gondor. The White City would grow old and dusty, fading into memory and myth. A sudden tiredness seized Aragorn's limbs and he felt cold. It was no foresight that spoke to him; only grim and undeniable knowledge that all things must pass. Nothing achieved by Man could stand forever, no more than this tower could—not even Gondor. The king's face grew grim and he rubbed absently at the ache in his shoulder that seemed to mirror the ache in his soul.

Legolas looked at the tall building and shook his head to clear it of the dust of the city that seemed to be clouding both thought and eyes. Blinking the building back into focus, he quickly scanned it with the sharp eyes of an Elf as he surreptitiously wiped his hand on the hem of his tunic, trying to dry it of the blood that would not seem to go away—the blood from innocent Men he had slain for following orders. The Elf grimaced and banished such thoughts to the cobwebs that this dusty, claustrophobic city wove around his thoughts and forced his attention to the structure in front of him. He picked out the minutest cracks even in the dim light of growing night flickered with faint torches. He examined the fading reliefs as they cast soft-edged shadows that sunk weakly against the walls that were slowly claiming them again. Looking up, he spied a high window whose shutters had not latched properly due to a fragment of drape caught between them. From the weather-beaten look of the cloth, it had been there for some time. It was unlikely, the Elf reasoned, that anyone would be coming to the window to fix the lapse any time soon save by some strange happenstance. While Legolas did not like relying on luck, he knew that hoping this luck would hold was the best chance of entry they were likely to find.

"There," he whispered, pointing. The others strained their eyes but mortal sight could not make out what he indicated in the darkness that was slowly stealing the world from them.

"What is it?" Aragorn hissed back.

"A window that is not latched properly," the Elf explained quietly. "It would serve as a suitable entry point, I suspect."

"My lord," Mallor whispered apologetically, "we are but mortal. We could not make such a climb."

"I know," Legolas returned quietly. "Yet if I could access the building, I could sneak back and unlock one of the doors for you. Or at the least find a rope of some sort I could toss down."

Aragorn shook his head. "Too risky," the Ranger breathed firmly.

A familiar stubborn set appeared in Legolas's jaw and his eyes sparkled with determination as he prepared to argue the point. Aragorn shook his head again. "I said it is too risky!" he hissed. "Even if you make it in undetected, none of us know the layout of the interior. You are more than likely to become lost and be unable to find your way to a door, and then there is the added problems of requiring a means to open the door and of not being seen."

"I do not see a better option!" the Elf protested in a stubborn whisper.

"Be patient, my lord," Éowyn counseled soothingly. "There must be one." She looked at Aragorn expectantly and he racked his brains while his own sight—sharper than that of other Men—searched the dim structure for that better option of which she spoke. He knew that if he did not find one soon, not only were they likely to be discovered, Legolas was likely to simply scale the wall and be done with it. Aragorn well recognized that stubborn look; it was almost the spitting image of Thranduil that now stood before him rather impatiently.

Aragorn sighed with exasperation and wandered idly why Gimli had not done as usual and distracted the Elf—then he stiffened and looked around. For the Dwarf to remain silent in a discussion of this sort—especially one that involved Legolas—was strange enough that Aragorn felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Where was Gimli?

With mounting alarm, the Man spun around, searching the shadows for his shorter comrade. He looked back at the others—who were regarding him with confusion—just in time to see the Dwarf ambling back towards them with a satisfied smile on his face. When he caught sight of Legolas, Gimli's smile became more like a smirk with no small hint of smugness to it. Rather than relaxing now that the Dwarf was found, Aragorn found himself tensing even more. What had Gimli been up to that would cause him to grin so smugly at the Elf, and what sort of inevitable discussion was it sure to engender?

"When you four are done standing around," the Dwarf rumbled, voice carefully pitched low so that it would not carry in the still night, "perhaps you would like to enter this ill-named citadel 'ere we are discovered?"

"Once we come to an agreement on how to do just that, which you would know we are currently discussing if your Dwarvish mind could keep up with the conversation of fleeter-thinking folk, we shall do just that, Master Dwarf," Legolas whispered haughtily.

Gimli's grin grew wider and Aragorn groaned silently in anticipation. "If Elves could keep up with the thoughts of Dwarves, perhaps you would know that there is no need to discuss it further, for I have already secured us an entrance while you sat about idly chatting, Master Elf," the Dwarf retorted smugly.

Aragorn restrained a sigh. "What did you do?" he asked quietly, hoping that the answer would not involve a certain axe and few certain skulls.

Gimli quirked an eyebrow at the king, as if chiding him for such foolish thoughts. "The locks were rusty," he said with a shrug that attempted to be nonchalant although he could not resist grinning slyly at the Elf. "I simply sped up the process of oxidation a bit with a few well-placed chips with a sharp stone."

"Well," said Aragorn neutrally, "it seems that you were right, my lady. A better option has indeed presented itself."

"Indeed," said Éowyn dryly. She looked at Legolas and raised an eyebrow. The Elf looked away, perhaps blushing although it was too dark to tell, but said nothing as Aragorn forced himself to resist the urge to snicker.

"Come," Aragorn said after a moment to compose himself, "let us use this entrance that good Master Gimli here has provided us with before the opportunity slips past us." He turned to follow the Dwarf, then paused. "And if you two would restrain your discussion until we are safely within and out of earshot of the guards, my nerves would be exceptionally appreciative," he said with a stern glance at both Elf and Dwarf. He was rewarded with identical looks of innocent surprise and, with a sigh, he gave up and trusted that the Valar would see to the two of them; they were the only ones with the power to get them to keep quiet he well knew.

Well, Aragorn amended thoughtfully, Thranduil could accomplish it for a moment or two when he tried his hardest.

And Arwen could usually secure a few minutes of peace when she put her mind to it.

Ah, how he missed Galadriel…

……………

Mallor wedged the heavy door shut behind them, careful to keep its old hinges from shrieking. Gimli crept down the dark hallway, somehow silent on the stone floor that ought to have, by all rights, rang under the Dwarf's heavy boots. But then, Dwarves were strange creatures about which Mallor knew little; perhaps it was true that they came from stone themselves, and it was so artful in their hands because they were distant kin. The Ranger had never put much stock in such rumors, but now, after spending some short time in Gimli's company, he could see easily how they might come to be started. The short creature seemed as strong as stone himself, and as unlikely to be affected by the acts of Men. Perhaps the Dwarf had asked the stone to be silent, and it had agreed.

With a small, wry grin, Mallor shook such idle fancies from his mind and turned his thoughts to their current situation. They no longer risked being spotted from the guards currently combing the city, but they were far from safe. Indeed, unless they found somewhere in which to secret themselves away soon, he did not doubt but that they would be discovered before long. For all that this corridor was dusty and unlit, the citadel was far from abandoned. One wrong turn would land them in even more trouble than before.

They would have to count on the Dwarf's affinity for stone and the Elf's sharp ears—and, of course, on King Aragorn. Mallor idolized his liege; he knew Aragorn was not infallible, but he was, in the Ranger's eyes, as close as was mortally (or even immortally, he ought to say, now that he was around Elves) possible. Lord Aragorn Elessar Telcontar was the Hope of Men, and Mallor trusted to hope with all his heart. He had followed Aragorn on the Paths of the Dead and fought for him on the Pelannor Fields and before the Morannon itself.

He would follow him through this shabby city and it's crumbling citadel with no thought of hesitation.

If only the same could be said for Aragorn. The king did not like being caught off guard, he did not like being caught in ignorance, yet suddenly he was both. He knew little about the people of Ostad, and less about the layout of their city itself. He had traveled farther in his lifetime than most Men dream, yet he had never come here. Never before had he set foot in this citadel, or even within the city walls. He did not know where he was nor where to go. He was being hunted and he did not understand the hunters.

It did not sit well with him. Not at all.

Aragorn looked upon the dark hall with grim grey eyes and his face was stern. His was a presence of nobility that could command by word alone; he needed no authority but that which he carried with him. Yet here that would do little good; the people of Ostad were unlikely to be commanded by the King of Gondor, for all that he was ostensibly their overlord.

That, too, did not sit well with Aragorn.

They had spread rumor and whisper through Gondor, seeking to weaken it from within. They had cut off ties and flouted authority. And now they had kidnapped—and injured—his people and his friends. Deep grey eyes narrowed to harsh slits.

There would indeed be a reckoning, Aragorn swore to himself silently. And what a reckoning it would be.

Now he simply had to see to it that they all survived long enough for that to come to pass.


	16. Breaking the Silence

_Right, first of all, terribly, **terribly **sorry about the inexcusably long wait! I am very ashamed and apologetic. **Very**. I'll go cringe away now…_

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**Chapter Sixteen**

Legolas crept forward slowly, his soft boots making no sound, his Lórien cloak barely rustling as he moved, so quiet that even straining his pointed ears to their utmost he could detect only the faintest hint of a whisper from his own movements. He paused as he came to the corner of the hallway and held his breath, listening. No sound came from ahead, but behind him he could hear the quiet clink of Gimli's armor as the Dwarf, moving on feet so silent only solid stone could be underfoot, sidled down the opposite side of the hall. He, too, paused when they came to the corner.

The two friends caught each other's eye and nodded. Then, moving with perfect timing, they stepped out abruptly into the hallway. Gimli had a small throwing axe pulled back and ready to fling; Legolas's bow was raised with an arrow notched to it. The Dwarf faced down the right side of the hallway; the Elf to the left. For obvious reasons, Legolas had taken the high stance while Gimli took the low; their heights were perfectly staggered to cover one another while scouting corners. They were ready; none who saw them would have had time to shout an alarm 'ere their life had ended.

However, so far they had encountered nothing save a few small rodents who, startled, fled silently from the sudden appearance of Elf and Dwarf. Glancing back at each other out of the corners of their eyes, they nodded slightly again; each way was clear of enemies. They were safe to proceed. So used to one another were they that only a small shift of the eyes was necessary to decide which way they would take; the discussion was both fast and silent. Sliding once more to opposite sides of the hallway they carefully crept along, weapons still ready in their hands. Just because the hallway was empty did not mean that it would stay that way. Gimli had lowered his larger battle axe out of the way, but he still held the throwing one tightly in his other hand, raised towards his shoulder; it would be the work of less than a moment to pull it back and send it flying. Legolas pinched the arrow's shaft with the fingertips he had wrapped around his bow, holding it there securely; he released the back of the arrow for a moment to wipe his hand dry. A premature shot caused by slippery fingers could bring ruin upon them all. Then he grasped it again, holding the bow half-pulled; it would be the work of less than a moment to raise and release.

Gimli shot the Elf a glance which Legolas returned with a raised eyebrow. The Dwarf wanted to know what this secret the Elf spoke of was that was not his to share. Legolas wasn't telling. They had been having the same silent argument down each hallway and up each corridor as they scouted. It was more out of habit than anything else; the part of their attention that was not occupied with avoiding detection was focused upon worrying about their other three companions. Legolas and Gimli had done things like this often enough that, by now, they had developed it to a fine art. Whether slipping around trees, skirting shallow alleys, stalking in echoing caves, or sneaking through elegant halls, the Elf and Dwarf had little fear of faltering. Unless they turned a corner to find a magically silent army gathered, they would be able to deal with anything easily.

However, while they did not doubt the abilities of Aragorn, Éowyn, or even their newly-met Ranger, Mallor, they knew that the three of them were not nearly so used to working together. It was a disquieting thought in the back of their minds…  
And, of course, there was that secret of which Legolas would not speak.

………….

Éowyn watched with a sense of both impatience and helplessness. She had trained next to her brother, knew how to wield a sword and ride a horse with impressive skill. She had rode into war and emerged victorious from a battle with one of the greater Evils of the world. She had studied healing with the daughter and son-in-law of one of the greatest Healers to walk these lands. She had learned secrets of plants and growth from the Elves. She could hold her own in both strategy sessions and ladies' discourse, though she truly shone only occasionally in either.

And yet ever was she reduced to the status her birth had given her: the damsel, the lady of the court, the frail female for whom wars might be fought and epics written but who was never allowed to fight for herself, to secure her own legends. Even _she_, the White Lady of Rohan, the Lady of the Shield-Arm, even she about whom songs were sung and praises spoken, even she. Éowyn had long ago reconciled the fighter within her spirit with the lady she had been born, and indeed, among the Rohirrim there was a long tradition of Shield Maidens. Éowyn, Shield-Maiden of the Shield-Arm, had proven herself in war and then, desiring to fight no more, had gracefully stepped into the world of peace and healing.

And there she still desired to remain; Éowyn had seen war, and it was an ugly, horrible sight. She no longer felt that chill desire for death in battle; she had passed through her shadow and emerged willing to live. She could see beyond that cold despair that had once frozen her, could see life and she cherished it, nurtured it. She found no joy in killing, in death; only in thwarting it.

But she certainly did not like being an…_impediment_. That's what she was; a problem, a difficulty, something in the way. Aragorn and Mallor, working in tandem, were silently sweeping the hallways of the aging citadel with the skill of the Rangers. Only after they had proceeded to the end of a corridor and seen that all was empty beyond it would they beckon her to join them. Éowyn swallowed a grimace and tightened her grip firmly on her sword and on her disgruntlement. She knew that she did not have the silence of a Ranger, knew that her eyes and ears were not as trained in detecting the presence of an enemy; she would have been more than content to follow them…but even that was too much of a risk. She had to remain, safe, waiting behind for them to ascertain that the coast was clear before they would allow her to join them. And even that, she could tell, sat ill with the two men; if someone were to enter the hallway or approach from behind, she would be unprotected. Éowyn could practically hear Aragorn silently repeating to himself reassurances; she was a warrior, she was skillful, she was proven, she had her sword, she would be fine, there was no danger… She could also see that while his lips were pressed tight in pain from his wound and determination that they would be successful, they were thinned as well by the distaste he felt for the risk her presence here placed her in.

Without her presence, Éowyn was certain, her companions would never have been hurt as they now were. Without needing to keep her safe, she was certain, they would never have thought of fleeing without Faramir and the other captives. Were it not for the fact that their nobility dictated that she—who had more than proven herself in battle—must be kept safe from any harm, Éowyn was certain, they would have stormed the citadel, defeated the enemy, rescued the captives, and returned home in victory with a chastened, obedient Ostad behind them. But because she was here, they could not risk such an action. It would place her in jeopardy, and they could not allow that. She was as fine a warrior as any—they would all readily admit her skills—but they would not allow her to use them, not if they could help it.

And, Éowyn was growing more and more certain, Legolas knew that she…

There was a short, sharp shout and all three cloaked humans froze involuntarily before spinning towards the distant sound. The cry had been faint, muffled both by the intervening hallways as well as by the one who had shouted; it was an involuntary sort of noise that one makes at a sudden shock or injury, choked off by the need for secrecy almost as soon as it left the lips that formed it.  
But in that shout, Éowyn had heard the sound of stone.

_Gimli!_

………….

A thousand curses danced through Aragorn's mind, learned over millions of miles and decades of years from hundreds of people. He could not speak any, both for the woman at his side and the burning in his chest. Aragorn's feet fair flew over the cold and dusty stone of the citadel of Ostad and the man named Wingfoot soon outdistanced his companions. The yell had not been repeated and no other noises had followed it; either that meant Gimli and Legolas had managed to deal with whatever it had been promptly, or they were unconscious…or… The breath hissed between his lips and the blood of a wound seeped through its bandages and dripped down his chest but he did not falter. Granted, he skidded halfway across the hallway when he took a corner too fast, but he remained on his feet.

Feet that should have been more concerned with silence than speed, even now. Aragorn was one of the Dúnedain, a Ranger in training and thought. No matter what he heard, he should never have broken into a blind sprint—gone searching, yes, but searching with caution, checking around corners before dashing down them, listening for those he had to avoid…and it had only been one short yelp. It could well have been nothing more than an innocent surprise breaking the Dwarf's silence. It had not even been a plea for help, and certainly there had been no sound of steel following it. Every fragment of training and experience Aragorn had ever learned screamed at him to stop, to slow, to be silent; he could well destroy all their chances in his foolhardiness—over something that might be nothing more than a, a decayed tapestry, or wind-blown door, or a million other innocent incidents that could have caught the Dwarf off-guard for a moment…

But something told Aragorn it was not. Some tone in Gimli's yell, or sense in Aragorn's heart, or unclear flicker of foresight, told him that something was wrong…and he hastened towards it, prudence discarded as Wingfoot once more earned his name.  
Andúril gleamed in one hand and a short knife of Elvish make shone in the other. He strained his keen ears, searching for a sound, a hint, something to tell him both where to go and what he would meet when he reached his uncertain destination. He knew the direction in which to head, both from the sound he hunted and from their earlier decision of where to search, but it was not specific. He knew not in which hallway he would find his friends—or in what shape he would find them once he got there.

…………….

Arwen scowled and pushed the scroll away from her, although her unhappy gaze never left the cursed paper. The mortal Elf-woman sighed with frustration and resisted the urge to storm from her chair and pace the room. She had always had a keen eye and graceful hand when it came to the literary arts, whether it be in Tengwar or one of the mortal tongues, and it was not difficult for Arwen to spot the signs of forgery in the letter that had called Éowyn to Ostad. Indeed, Arwen felt that the only reason Éowyn herself had not noticed something amiss was because the open Rohirrim woman, for all the time she had spent living with the foul machinations of Wormtongue, was not the type of person to react with suspicion. She had received a missive from her husband, had taken it happily for what it seemed to be, and never thought to look further.

Arwen could not blame her; she wondered that she would ever have thought to do the same, and felt unfortunately certain that she would not. She was lucky that Aragorn had a distinctive hand, difficult to fake; there was a touch of Elvish to the way he formed his letters that came from learning them in her father's household. It was like an accent that could not be heard but rather seen. It seemed that any Elf's writing had the same strange, almost imperceptible difference to it. Her own written "accent" was very thick when she was in a hurry, although usually she took enough care when making her letters that one could mistake them for a graceful mortal hand. And, being related to Elladan and Elrohir as she was, Arwen lost no chance to tease Aragorn about her being able to write more "humanly" than he did.

The queen sighed again. Thinking tangents like that would get her no where, and were a sign of how frustrated she was growing. Arwen was certain that she recognized the hand that had written this letter, but she could not place it. There was something disquietingly familiar to the letters, but what that was she could not say.

The letter had been brought from Emyn Arnen as Aragorn had requested before he set out, although the sudden arrival of her brothers with Beregond had forced him to leave before it came. Arwen had placed it in the private study when the rider handed it to her, and all but forgotten about it with how busy she was in keeping up this intolerable charade.

Arwen was already halfway through her first revolution of the room before she realized that she had risen and begun to pace. Glaring at herself now rather than the letter, she emphatically sat down and pulled it back towards her. She just needed a closer look and she was certain the whatever-it-was would become clear to her… Her dark locks swung down to caress the page and she irritably hooked them back behind a slim pointed ear. Her nose crept down to where it was nearly touching the object of her intense scrutiny. There, she almost had it…just a moment more…

A soft cry interrupted and Arwen immediately jumped to her feet. In a flurry of dark skirts she was in the adjoining room and lifting her daughter into her arms, shushing her back to sleep. The babe squirmed and whimpered as if from a disturbing dream but soon settled back to contentment, one small hand curled in her mother's soft hair. A nurse could have been standing by to care for the child during the night, but Arwen was loathe to pass her darling child into the care of another. As queen, she sometimes had no choice; she had too many duties to be able to take on every moment of attention an infant required, but certainly the babe's nursemaid saw far less work than she had expected as caretaker for the first child of Gondor's royal family.

"Hush, little one," Arwen murmured, gently stroking her daughter's silky curls, "all is well. Rest peacefully, my darling, nana is here. _Losto_, my Gilraen…"

* * *

_Yes yes yes, I am decidedly evil. I'll try not to let so much time go by this next update, really I will! But at least I found a nice, **happy **spot to let you all stew…er, I mean, **wait**…now didn't I? Heh.  
_  
Oh, and a thousand thanks to Lyn for the very welcomed nitpicking! ("Sneaked" sounds a bit awkward, so in places I prefer "snuck," even though it's not a real word. The rest of it, though, yes, I should go fix that now, thank you greatly.) 

Also, if I've just sent you a duplicate response to a review you left for a previous chapter, my apologies. I try not to respond until I post the next chapter in order to avoid this, but it's been so long (gee I wonder whose fault that is?) that I may have forgotten...and, yeah, again, I'll be slinking off now...sorry.


	17. Hiding in Plain Sight

**Chapter Seventeen**

Wingfoot fair flew around the corner before slowing his panicked run to take in the situation.

Gimli knelt over the prone form of Legolas, trying to rouse him. Blood gleamed wet and red. Aragorn's sharp eyes flashed down the hallway and up again, but could find no evidence of a fight. Nothing he noticed seemed amiss; it was as if the Elf had been struck out of nowhere and all evidence of the attack simply melted away. The Ranger's steps faltered as he searched desperately, but there was still nothing. He opened his mouth to voice a question, but before he could do so, he stepped close enough to hear that Gimli was speaking.

Not speaking, really; cursing. Aragorn knew almost no Dwarvish—for it was a secret language, and one the Dwarves guarded carefully—but he knew Gimli well enough to know when this particular Dwarf was swearing, and right now he was doing it with a vengeance. The fact that the Khuzdul was liberally interspersed with more familiar—if no doubt equally foul—smatterings of Westron, Rohanese, and Sindarin made it fairly obvious that the Dwarf was expressing an ill temper, as well as revealing that said temper seemed to be directed at Legolas.

Sheathing his blades, Aragorn knelt next to them. "Gimli, what happened?" he asked, cutting off the Dwarf's muttered curses.

"Talc-minded Elvish idiot," Gimli spat back furiously, "somehow this fool of an Elf managed to get himself wounded and, in his typical corundum-headed superiority, decided he was immune from all frailty or hurt! Who knows how long the blasted princeling's been bleeding himself into a stupor?" Aragorn knew it was a bad sign when Gimli started using rocks as descriptions; at least he wasn't spitting inarticulate Dwarvish expletives yet, but he was clearly close to that point. The Dwarf shook Legolas's shoulder again, more gently than the rumbling rage in his voice would have suggested, but none too delicately.

Aragorn reached for his pack and started searching through it for those pungent herbs that, when crushed, could wake all but the dead as Mallor and Éowyn dashed, panting, into the hall. The Ranger caught his breath against the wall for a moment before pushing off and standing on guard.

"What?" Éowyn managed to gasp faintly as she dropped next to Aragorn.

The king had just started to explain when Legolas stirred with a soft groan. He shook the shadows from his head, and seemed to be about to speak, when he noticed the two Healers leaning over them. He blinked in confusion, frowning. "What is going on?" he asked. Aragorn tensed for the explosion.

"Might one not have more right in asking _you_ such a question!" Gimli bellowed in a whisper.

"Gimli, familiar as I am with your penchant for not making sense as well as your perpetual habit for blaming anything that your feeble Dwarven mind cannot grasp upon myself," Legolas replied with a long-suffering sigh, "I must admit that I find myself utterly at a loss as to why you would think that _I _could possibly answer such a question when it was I who was somehow rendered unconscious while the rest of you appear none the worse for wear." The Elf spoke in a careful whisper, but his words were weaker and slower than secrecy should have merited. "What sort of attack was it that managed to catch me so off-guard, distracted although I was with watching over my loud companion here in the effort to keep him from alerting the entire citadel to our presence?"

"How should _I _be expected to know what made you keel over when you choose to keep your honeyed tongue between snake-smiling teeth?" Gimli snarled with terrifying eloquence. "You have all the stubbornness of your ill-begotten father with none of the charm," he began, and Aragorn tensed so sharply that his gasp hissed audibly between his teeth. When either Glóin or Thranduil entered the conversation, all around would be well advised to duck for cover.

"Legolas, you are injured," Éowyn broke in so quickly she nearly stumbled over her words as she spoke and her skirts as she leaned forward.

"I am still waiting for an explanation of what occurrence…" Legolas began somewhat petulantly as Éowyn reached for the Elf's bloody arm, but his voice trailed off when he saw the blood seeping from beneath his archer's bracer. "Oh," he said in a somewhat small voice that seemed to want to disappear beneath the stone floor on which he lay.

"There was no attack, was there," Aragorn said flatly.

Gimli snorted, his throat apparently crammed with too many jumbled words to speak, and shook his head. The Dwarf's eyes sparked as he glared furiously at the Elf. "Fool Elf just collapsed," he eventually managed to force out tightly.

"And now I am fine. A momentary inconvenience," Legolas said lightly, moving to stand. "We had best be on our way, for I fear the foolishness of Dwarves might well have drawn attention to us—am I right?"

Aragorn put a firm hand on the Elf's shoulder and forced him back down. "You are," he said, hoping that Gimli would not choose to notice that in agreeing with Legolas the king was theoretically agreeing that the Dwarf had been foolish—Gimli was more than capable of starting an argument over a technicality like that if he were in the mood for one—but apparently the Dwarf didn't want to dilute any of his anger at Legolas by sharing some for the Man. For which Aragorn was grateful; he was well skilled at speechcraft, but Legolas and Gimli had spent immeasurable hours perfecting their talents and techniques for argument, and he knew that in his present state he would be no match for the frustrated Dwarf. "However," Aragorn continued, "since you chose not to share news of your injuries with us when we could have better spared time to tend them, we will have to hope that your stubbornness does not now harm us."

Legolas's pale cheeks flushed slightly. "I told you, it is nothing. Let us be off—" He was interrupted by a sharp flinch when Éowyn probed along the bottom edge of his ribcage where his tunic bore a stain of blood.

"What happened and when did it occur?" The Rohirrim woman asked with steel in her eyes and voice.

"When we were going over the wall, I was grazed by an arrow. Now, are you all satisfied? May we be on our way at last? For I—"

"That's an awful lot of blood for a graze," Aragorn murmured, raising an eyebrow in a not-at-all amused manner. "One would think that a bandage might have helped greatly when the wound was freshly made," he added dryly.

"That implies that Elves are capable of thought," Gimli muttered. Legolas shot him a haughty glare but knew that he was in no position to argue the point right now.

"How much blood loss does it take to make an Elf faint, my lord?" Éowyn asked coolly, although she knew quite enough about the Healing Arts, even when applied to Elves, to require no answer.

Gimli offered one, though, saying, "quite a bit less when they haven't slept in days, I'd wager."

"That is a bet I doubt any of us here would take, my friend," Aragorn answered, tugging on the buckle of Legolas's bracer to loosen it.

Which apparently took things just a step too far. Legolas was willing to put up with more than usual because he knew he'd been foolish and his stubbornness had placed his friends in danger, but enough was enough. He yanked his arm away from the king and rose almost smoothly to his feet. If he had to blink to dispel a flash of dizziness, he did not allow that to deter him. "While I am thrilled that you are all garnering amusement from this at least, I truly believe that there are better times and better places to continue my embarrassment," he snapped. All three opened their mouths to say something, but Legolas turned sharply on his heel and stalked away. He roughly yanked his arm-guard tight again; it made perhaps a less effective tourniquet than he had thought it would, but it ought to be able to put enough pressure on the wound to keep him upright long enough for them to find somewhere safer than the middle of a hallway.

"Come along," he snapped to Mallor, practically stomping—if such a word could be applied to the noiseless footfalls of an Elf—past the Ranger. Mallor's jaw worked, as if he were searching for words. He glanced back at his liege for help, but Aragorn just shrugged and waved a hand, indicating that the Ranger might as well do as Legolas said.

Éowyn and Gimli muttered mutinously under their respective breaths, but rocked to their feet and followed as well. They were familiar enough with Legolas's stubborn streak to know that once Aragorn folded to more or less side with the Elf, any further opposition would be a waste of quite a bit of time. Of course, the Elf was setting himself up for quite a bit of grief later, but Legolas was irritated enough at them and, more so, at himself, enough to not care at the moment.

The Elf forced himself to slow down when the faint sounds behind him reminded Legolas that his companions could not be as silent as he and still move so rapidly. And upset as he was, now was not the time to put distance between them, however much he might like to. He was quite capable of taking care of himself, and there were more important things to worry about now than a simple arrow graze—and no matter if he had perhaps lost more blood than he'd anticipated, now was not the time to dawdle with such trivialities. Gimli should have just slapped him awake and they could have gone about their business without any of this pointless trouble.

Aragorn leaned over to Gimli and whispered quietly enough that Legolas, with his head still ringing a bit, didn't overhear the soft words. "So he simply toppled over with no provocation?"

"Ay," Gimli mumbled back, scowling at the retreating grey cloak of the Elf in question. "One moment we were arguing, the next he swayed and tumbled like a brittle tree in a storm."

Aragorn was almost too preoccupied to notice that Gimli had used a metaphor that was distinctly more Elven than Dwarven in nature, but some small part of his mind filed it away with a hidden smile for later note. Aloud, he murmured, "he is lucky he did not crack his head open when he fell."

Gimli snorted, but quietly. "Thranduilion's thick head is far too hard to be injured by this poor, bruised stone. Rather, we are lucky that he did not split the floor in twain," the Dwarf grumbled.

Aragorn swallowed a chuckle, knowing that to laugh would be to invite doom from both Dwarf and Elf upon his person, and to force them to unite in argument when they were angry with one another would only cause them to direct more venom his way. And while the king would never admit it, the last desperate dash had left him more tired than he was comfortable being in, in such a situation. He needed a moment to recover from his thrice-cursed wounds…

But the king's sharp ears suddenly caught proof that that moment would be a long time coming:

_Voices!_

…………._  
_

Elrohir started, suddenly realizing that his name had been said twice without eliciting reaction. Granted, it was not "his" name, exactly, so he could perhaps be excused his inattention, but as he was currently playing the part of "Elladan," he really had best remember to respond to his brother's name.

"Your pardon, my lords," the Elf said smoothly. "I fear my attention was elsewhere for a moment." Arwen flashed him a look that said if she had been sitting just a few inches closer she would have delivered a wicked kick to his ankle. He smiled back at his sister most sweetly but resisted the urge to tease her; Elladan was the "serious" twin—in comparison to Elrohir, for both were shameless jokesters—and would have restrained himself from mocking Arwen in the middle of the council meeting unless his brother was here to start the game. Of course, Elladan's brother _was _here, but Elrohir was being Elladan, and so he had to act as his brother. It was a simple enough thing, really, but it got quite confusing when one tried to think about it. Elrohir idly cursed politics, kingdoms, nobles, meetings, and both his twin and foster-brother-brother-in-law for leaving him in this position.

Especially because Aragorn's illness-that-was-really-a-secret-mission-but-shh meant that he had to take the king's place at these hideous meetings. Arwen was more than capable of handling them on her own, of course, but he had to give the impression that both twins were here, and what better way than to make himself seen as each brother "taking turns" to aid the queen, while the _other_ brother "sat with the king" in his bedchambers in case he should require anything in his illness. Fortunately, Beregond was recovered enough that he could be left on his own for a few hours, for the two Elves dared not involve anyone else in the deception. A stray word now would lead to all manner of trouble. Humans were such suspicious creatures…deservedly so, having lived on the edges of Mordor, perhaps, but really, it got a bit annoying, especially when you were used—and Elrohir was—to the ways of the Elves of Imladris and Lórien who had known each other for a very long time, in some cases literally for Ages, and trusted one another in every sense of the word. Of course, being an Elf of Imladris—indeed, being one of the two Lords of Imladris who had taken charge after their father went over the Sea—Elrohir ought to be used to meetings that went on for hours or even days, but somehow those meetings didn't seem quite so tedious as the ones he'd been trapped into attending here in Gondor. Certainly he'd never had his mind wandering this much during them! With a sigh, Elrohir forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

Which was, apparently, the organization of night watches on the outer walls. He had been asked for his opinion, as if he were some sort of expert on the matter. Granted, he had spent enough time riding with the Dunedain to be familiar with the limits of mortal senses and endurance; he also had plenty of experience in organizing watches around a camp in both dangerous and peaceful lands; furthermore, he had often arranged the defenses of Imladris…but that was really quite a different matter.

"Well, my lords," Elrohir-speaking-as-Elladan said, "I must admit that I have never given thought to the arrangement of such a thing in a city of this sort. Imladris—that is, Rivendell—lies in a secluded valley, and our gate guard is there more to act as a welcoming party than anything defensive. We have no walls to walk, and while we _do_ have riders and scouts patrolling the surrounding area they are, well, they are Elves; we set no specific patrols to walk, merely scatter a few individuals and trust that they will remain close enough to one another to call for assistance if it is required and yet far enough to cover most of the ground. Even without the, ah, special protections my father used to keep our valley safe and secret, we need little fear sudden attack." He shrugged and spread his hands. "I fear my advice on this matter will be of little use…at least in comparison to that of my dearest sister." Elrohir schooled his face into innocence rather than smirking; he was being his brother, after all, and Elladan was quite good at looking serious.

He expected Arwen to shoot his a glare sharp enough to knock him from his chair for putting her on the spot like that, but instead she merely nodded and rose smoothly from her chair as if she had been waiting for the proper moment. Gondor's queen moved to the diagram of the city's defenses that was spread across the meeting table and began speaking.

Elrohir heard few of her words for he was too busy staring at the Elf-woman outlining her strategy for perimeter defense. When had Arwen become versed in military strategy? When, for that matter, had she started to care about such things enough to _bother_ to become versed? Elrohir sat slackly in his chair wondering how long ago his little sister had turned into a queen and why he had never noticed the change until now.

When had his baby sister grown up, and what else had he missed? Suddenly, and for the first time in his long, long life, Elrohir felt old.

………….

"I don't see what all the commotion's over, anyway."

"Strangers in the city…"

"Aye, a scant handful of fools, from what I hear! Probably just got lost…confounded streets…"

"Their high-and-mightinesses want them caught, that's all that matters."

"And did you hear what Third Company was babbling about? Elves and monsters! Pah!"

"Well, we can't very well have that sort running around the city, can we?"

"And what do they want here, I'd like to know!"

"Probably just trying to find the way back out—lost, like you said."

"Then what's the point of searching _here_, eh? They'll be heading for the exits, not the center of the city."

"Suppose they could be _really _lost…"

Laughter echoed off stone hallways.

"Still, even if they _were _that lost, how'd they make it through the wall to the Inner City, huh?"

"Better safe than sorry."

"But searching the _citadel? _It's ridiculous! There's no way the fools could have made it in here, even if they _did _wander past the Wall somehow…"

"Well, it hardly be our place to question, is it?"

"It is when I'm supposed to be sound in my bed!"

"You whine like an old woman."

Two citadel guards in their gray and black livery rounded a corner, their boot heels ringing sharply on the stone floor. The shorter of the two gave his companion a shove. "And you look like one," he snapped back, grinning. The noise of their conversation, amplified by the ancient stones, covered the sound of a quiet retreat ahead of them. They never saw the tail end of a pale grey cloak whip around the corner at the end of the hallway; it seemed no more than shifting dust and shadows cast from the torch the taller soldier carried aloft.

Still complaining, the guards bantered their way to a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar, and on down the corridor. Then the taller one paused, and looked back. "Suppose we'd better check up there, too," he grumbled. The two soldiers hesitated a moment, eyeing one another, then sighed and stomped back the way they'd come. The staircase was small and dark, choked with dust, for few took this path any longer; there were broader, less risky climbs to the upper levels, and this out-of-the way set of crumbling carved steps now stood all but forgotten in the mazelike corridors of a citadel built for a larger garrison than the city could muster.

Grumbling all the while, the two guards took the stairs single file, the taller torchbearer in front. Their climb led past a few doors on its spiral upwards. The shorter guard tried the doors, but found most of them locked; the others were small storerooms, filled with forgotten sacks and chests, and a cursory inspection by the flickering fire was enough to reveal them empty, their dust undisturbed by anything larger than mice.

"Didn't think to get a set of keys," the shorter guard had muttered when they encountered the first unopenable door. "Should we go find the keeper?"

His lankier companion shrugged. "Why bother? 'Tisn't like _they _could have gotten in if it's locked, is it? This all be a waste of time anyway…"

"You be right," the other had nodded sharply. "Let's just get this done." They hadn't wasted more a second on any locked doors after that. It was late, and their bunks were calling.

Eventually they came across one door that seemed merely stuck; the guards glanced at one another, curious but not altogether alarmed. Ostad's infiltrators certainly weren't about to materialize in some forgotten pantry, but nonetheless, it was odd. The guards peered at the lock and jiggled it a bit, but it held fast. Grumbling about rust, the soldiers continued on their way, the dancing light from the torch skipping around a bend in the staircase and fading away at last.

Within the small room, a band of cloaked strangers breathed a collective sigh of relief. Gimli released his viselike hold on the door's handle, and the others lowered their weapons. The Bow of Galadriel creaked as if offended to have been drawn and not loosed.

"That was close," Aragorn muttered, sheathing Andúril.

"We could have taken them," Gimli grumbled, flexing his cramped fingers.

Gondor's King raised a noble eyebrow. "And of course, when two of their guards failed to return from their search, the captains would have written it off as coincidence."

The Dwarf shuffled and glowered. "It would hardly surprise me, in this shabby excuse of a city," he replied, but he said it quietly into his beard.

"Now what, my lord?" Mallor asked, his own sword still out and at the ready.

Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but Éowyn did so first. "There are injuries to tend," the White Lady of Rohan said fiercely, glaring at both Aragorn and Legolas as if the Witch King himself stood before her. The Man swallowed his words and both took an involuntary step back. They might both be great lords used to giving orders of life and death in dire peril, but neither one was about to argue with the Lady Éowyn.

"And then, rest." She glanced at the rest of her footsore and dusty companions. "We could, I am sure, _all _use some of that."

Cloaked faces looked back at her, pale in the sliver of moonlight streaming through the thin window, and nodded. The day had been long and hard, and tomorrow looked to be worse. They had survived the chase, but that was all. They were in more danger now than ever, hidden as they were deep within the center of the double city, Ostad.

* * *

_Why in the world did I use the word "Rohanese"? Isn't it supposed to be "Rohirric"? Actually—surprisingly—not. I was double-checking the spelling on the word (I thought that's what it was, too) and came across the article on Rohirric on Wikipedia, _en(dot)wikipedia(dot)org/wiki/Talk:Rohirric_ and it turns out, Tolkien never used that word. He only used Rohanese once, and usually referred to their language just as "Rohan." Rohirric, it seems, is a bit of "fannon" that we've all just accepted as true cannon, it's been around so long. Whaddaya know, huh?_

_...and as always, I apologize for the delay in updating. _


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